


I’m Only Human After All

by RandomWordsAndStormyDays



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Complete, Drug Use, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Feelings get in the way, Flashbacks, Happy Ending, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Bias, Kidnapping, M/M, Misunderstandings, More Misunderstandings, Nate has to pretend to be married to Deacon for a mision, Nate is in love with Deacon, Nate learns some interesting things about Shaun, Physical Torture, Psychological Torture, Sexual Content, Torture, Undercover, covenant, deacon has a name, kind of, more kidnapping, nate sells his soul to save deacon, shaun is literally an evil bastard, synth nora
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-13 07:34:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21490681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandomWordsAndStormyDays/pseuds/RandomWordsAndStormyDays
Summary: Nathan Richards spent his life before the bombs fell hiding his true self from the world. He married his best friend Nora, the only person to know his secret, and together they lived a happy life with their adopted son. Then, the world ended, and Nate lost the only two people in the world that he cared about.Now, he has a new family, half settlers taking up arms to defend themselves and the Commonwealth, and the other a secret group of people dedicated to saving those that can’t save themselves. Along with that he’s got a partner, a friend, someone who would die for him. And he can’t help the feelings that develop the longer he’s with them.But what happens when an undercover mission exposes feelings that Nate isn’t ready to share, and what happens when the man he loves goes missing, taken by synth hating folk who believe his partner to be one?What will Nate do to make sure that he doesn’t lose another person that he loves?
Relationships: Deacon/Male Sole Survivor, Deacon/Sole Survivor (Fallout)
Comments: 54
Kudos: 134





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, buckaroos get ready for some fake-dating/married/undercover operations that get a little dicey. This might get another chapter, as the ending is.... pretty vague and there are hints to things working in the shadows that don't get resolved, but - if there's no interest in this, or y'all are satisfied with what I'm handing out, then maybe there won't be anymore. You guys let me know.
> 
> This is 100% unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own. Good luck.
> 
> \---  
Important Note: Nate does have a couple flashbacks to his life pre-war, some of these show some homophobic language and themes. If you don't want to read that, then skip past the second flashback that starts "Nate’s heart thuds in his chest as his parents argue" (all flashbacks are italicized).

Nate’s hands tighten on the axe handle, fighting against the sickly black blood pouring from the feral’s busted skull. Using his foot, he braces against the creature’s chest, and suppressing the urge to puke at the sound, he rips the blade from where it had landed, deep inside what used to be a human’s brain. The body drops to the floor with a wet thud and Nate turns away, scanning his surroundings to ensure that no other creature has snuck up on him in the middle of his fight. Seeing nothing he relaxes, but keeps his guard up just in case.

Taking his time, he works his way back down the hall from where he came, side stepping bodies and limbs from the ferals he had fought. Even though the smell is enough to make him gag, the loot he’s finding is worth having to fight the urge to puke. A few more screws, some purified water, and, hidden behind a half collapsed desk, a military grade circuit board.

Sturges needs one of those.

_ And I need a stiff drink, and a goddamn nap. Actually, what I really need is a bath- with real fucking soap. _

Pushing all thoughts of relaxation from his mind, Nate leaves the crumbling National Guard Training Yard and steps back out into the Commonwealth. It’s not too far back to County Crossings, but the sun is starting to set and he wonders what would be better: to try and make it to the tiny settlement, or bed down close by for the evening? The grumbling in his stomach makes the decision for him.

Nate heads back inside and makes his way up to the top of the Training Yard roof, making sure to barricade the stairs behind him. All he hopes now is that a radstorm doesn’t break out, he doesn’t want to spend the night inside, with that terrible smell. As he waits for the instant potatoes to cook he stares out across the top of the building, out towards the landscape.

The sun’s rays distort his view and for a moment, just the briefest second, it looks like before the bombs. It brings back memories.

_ “Daddy, daddy! Look what I found.” _

_ Nate turns away from the trunk of his car to see his son, Shaun, bounding towards him. In one quick motion he swoops the boy into his arms and cradles him. _

_ “What is it, kiddo?” _

_ “Look it’s a frog!” Nate looks down to see that there is, in fact, a tiny green and brown frog resting in the palm of his five year old’s hands. “His name is Dony-telto, like the ninja turtle.” _

_ “Don’t you mean Donatello?” _

_ Shaun face scrunches up, “that’s what I said.” _

_ Laughter rumbles in his chest, “of course, what are you going to do with him?” _

_ “He’s gonna watch the fireworks with us! And then, I’ll take him home and he can live with us.” _

_ From over the top of his son’s head, Nora waves at him, silently calling him over to the blanket she’s laid out on the ground. Nate rotates, grabbing the earplugs and sunglasses from the car, and then shuts the trunk before starting his journey towards his wife. _

_ “I don’t think that’s a good idea, buddy,” at Shaun’s protests he explains, “I’m sure Donatello has a family here. If we take him home he’ll be miles away and he’ll miss them.” _

_ The boy goes silent, and doesn’t respond. Instead, he uses one hand to gently pet at the frog’s head, looking deep in thought. Nate lets him think, the boy needs to work through things on his own if he’s ever going to develop good thinking skills. By the time they reach Nora, Shaun’s smile is back. She looks at them a little oddly, then tilts her head toward Shaun’s hands. _

_ “Baby, what do you have there?” _

_ “It’s a frog, mommy, Dony-telto.” _

_ Nora meets his eyes, laughter shining in them, and he just shrugs, lowering Shaun onto the blanket and taking a seat next to them. _

_ “And what are you doing with him?” _

_ “Well, I was going to take him home,” he pauses to drop the frog into his lap, the amphibian doesn’t move, “but daddy told me he has a family, and family should stay together.” Nate feels pride well up inside his chest. “So I think he’ll watch the fireworks with us, and then I’ll take him back.” _

_ Nora smiles, leans in to ruffle Shaun’s hair, “I think that’s a great idea, but before you eat anything, you have to wash your hands, okay?” _

_ “Okay, mommy!” _

_ Both Shaun and Nora look at him then, the setting sun shining from behind him casts them in different hues of purple, pink, and orange, and he feels like the luckiest man in the world. _

His heart stutters and he clears his throat, tearing his gaze away from the familiar, yet strange, sight. His potatoes seem even less appetizing than before, but he eats them anyways. No reason to waste perfectly good- well semi-okay- eh, reasonably edible food. He falls asleep listening to the Ink Spots from the radio in his pip-boy, heart heavy and mind weary.

When he wakes, it’s dark. Dark and cold, as the fire he had built is now nothing more than ash, the flames long dead. But it’s not the dropped temperature that raised him from his sleep, there’s someone below him, at the entrance to the Training Yard.

“I’m telling you, I saw a fire on the roof. If we get up there I bet they’re an easy mark.”

“And I’m telling you you’ve been taking too much of that Buffout and it’s fucking with your head.”

From the way they speak, Nate guesses they’re Raiders. Only two of them by the sound of it, which shouldn’t be too much work to clear them, especially if he can use stealth to his advantage.

Being as quiet as he can, he climbs out of his bedroll and grabs his pistol. His axe is great for wasteland creatures, but people tend to require bullets.

_ What a disturbing thought. When did I start to categorize things by what I need to use to kill them? _

Shaking those thoughts away he creeps towards the roof’s door, placing himself to the side of it. Minutes tick by as the Raiders pick their way through the building, and before long Nate can hear their heavy shoes on the concrete stairs. His heart is pounding hard inside his chest, adrenaline courses through him, and his breathing picks up, stuttering for a second when he hears the doorknob turn.

As soon as the steel creaks open about a foot he launches forward, ramming the heel of his boot into the door and slamming it shut. Satisfaction races through him when he hears the Raiders shout as they tumble down the stairs, back to the second floor. In the next second Nate yanks the door open and fires at the base of the stairwell, once, twice, three times. There’s a scream, from which Raider he can’t tell, and then all falls silent.

Just to be safe he jumps back, using the door as cover and waits, he counts two minutes and then uses the light from his pip-boy to look. The Raiders are dead, one with a bullet in his neck, the other with two in the chest. _ Three for three, not bad. But where there’s one Raider, there’s a dozen. I’m not safe here… I’m not safe anywhere. _

And with that depressing thought, Nate turns away from the bodies, packs his things, and slips off into the night.

From atop the Training Yard a single crow watches, it’s eyes glowing green, green, then, as Nate disappears out of sight, red.

///

“I’m telling you, Wanderer, the Institute has eyes everywhere.” Tinker Tom talks with his hands, which wouldn’t normally be an issue. Today, however, he’s got a needle with who knows what in it in one hand, and a loaded pistol in the other. “This serum will get rid of the tiny nanobots they have in your blood.”

Deacon, always Nate’s loyal partner, rolls into the conversation. “Tom, that serum of yours has battery acid in it.”

“To get rid of the bots!”

They both turn to look at Nate, and he hesitates. He’s been with the Railroad for a few months now, but he’s still the new guy, and Tom seems very insistent that he take this serum. _ It’s likely that if I don’t take it now, he’ll inject me in my sleep. Plus, if it really was dangerous Deacon would make a distraction so I could get out of it. _

“Alright, Tom, I’ll take it.”

A slight raise of an eyebrow is the only indication that Deacon is surprised. Tom’s shout of joy brings his attention back to the mystery needle, and he has no chance to register what’s going on before Tom sticks the needle directly into his arm.

Pain stems out from the injection area, but that’s quickly replaced by a full body ache that starts in his arm and spreads out to every point in his body. In less time than it takes to inhale, Nate’s vision starts to dim, and he’s vaguely aware of his legs giving out. Someone catches him and the points where their body meets his hum with a burning pain.

Then, it’s over. His vision returns, there’s no pain, and the only evidence that anything happened at all is the fact that he’s on his knees, leaning on Deacon for support.

“Fuck.” His mouth feels tingly, but otherwise everything is fine. He pushes back from Deacon, and the line of the spy’s jaw betrays his concern, but Nate stands on steady feet and they take a step apart. “Felt fucking awful.”

“But now you’re clean! Just don’t eat or drink anything out there and you won’t need another one.” And with that Tom turns away, tinkering away at his terminal.

Nate shudders to think what another dose of the mystery liquid would do to him.

“You’re actually insane. You know that, right?” He turns towards Deacon, who’s grinning at him like he didn’t just almost die. Nate guesses that if he could see them, the other man’s eyes would be twinkling with humor.

“Hey, you’re the one who told me this was an insane family, I’m just trying to fit in.”

Before Deacon can respond, Desdemona approaches them. She tells them that Agent Dodds hasn’t sent out his weekly check-in from Covenant. Normal protocol would be to go underground, burn all routes through that area, and regroup. But Dodds’ last update was that there was a secret compound of synths being tortured hidden somewhere nearby, and that he was going to try and find it.

“According to Dodds there’s at least a dozen synths there, maybe more. This is too important to let go and-” she closes her mouth as a look of shame passes over her face, “I already made the mistake of sending one agent alone, I want you both to go, so you can keep an eye on each other.”

Des leaves them with a stack of reports and information about the town and the people there that their agents have collected. Their SAFE test makes Nate feel sick- how many people failed it, how many people and synths have died because of one town’s bigotted beliefs? The two of them spend hours going over the mission materials.

It reminds Nate of his briefings during deployment, only this time he’s the one in charge, not the one taking orders.

_ If only Staff Sergeant Elledge could see me now, or Captain Groom, they’d shit themselves. _

Once they’ve absorbed all the information that the Railroad has on Covenant, they get to move on to his partner’s favorite part: infiltration.

“Alright, so up until now I’ve given you a role and we’ve just run with that,” as Deacon talks he leads Nate towards the back of HQ, “and you’ve done pretty alright so far, but with something like this we have a secret weapon.”

Nate diligently follows his partner back and down into what everyone so lovingly calls ‘PAM’s Pit’.

“PAM, my dear, we have questions.” The assaultron exits her low-power mode as Deacon speaks and turns towards them. “Sweetheart, I gotta know,” Deacon hops up onto a desk, crossing his legs and waving Nate closer, “what cover do you think Wanderer and I should undertake in order to trick those Covenant people into thinking we’re not a threat so we can go rescue some synths?”

PAM responds quickly, “Mission: infiltration. Location: Covenant. Agents: Deacon and Wanderer. Request: What is the best cover for this mission? Calculating.”

Deacon talks nonsense for a few minutes as PAM does her calculations. It’s amusing, and kind of cute. For some reason his partner has the opposite effect on him than everyone else. While the rest of the Railroad finds Deacon’s tricks, jokes, and pranks to be at minimum irritating and at maximum something to fight about, Nate instead finds comfort in them.

It’s a daily reminder that even though his world has fallen apart that some people can still find a way to make him smile.

To make him happy.

He’s pulled away from his staring when PAM finally speaks.

“I have calculated three options that meet the mission requirements. The success of these options all fall below 30%.”

He looks at Deacon, expecting worry, instead the man is smiling. “Not a problem for the Death Bunnies, PAM, what do we have- start from the least probable.”

“At a success rate of 4.8%. Agents Wanderer and Deacon enter Covenant posing as traders from a local settlement.”

“Next.”

“At a success rate of 17.3%. Agents Wanderer and Deacon enter Covenant under the ruse of injury or escape from threat.”

“And finally?”

“At a success rate of 28.9%. Agents Wanderer and Deacon enter Covenant posing as newlyweds, traveling for their honeymoon.”

For once, Deacon doesn’t say anything. Nate is the first to find his voice, even if he feels a little woozy. “Where did you come up with that?”

“Agent Dodds reported on four separate occasions that couples celebrating their marriage have traveled to Covenant and stayed an average of 10 days. They were mostly left alone and were not expected to stay within the walls of the settlement at all times.” Deacon nods, signaling that he can follow her logic. “Based off the mission requirements it is the most likely option to ensure there is enough time and freedom of mobility to locate the kidnapped synths.”

Having completed her calculations, PAM once more powers down, waiting. Nate can’t seem to look Deacon in the eye. They’re not really going to do this, right? Just the idea of having to pretend that he’s married to his partner, while also not revealing his very real crush, has his heart racing.

And even thought this new world doesn’t seem to mind couples of the same sex, that doesn’t mean his internalized biases have gone anywhere.

  
  


_ Nate’s heart thuds in his chest as his parents argue. _

_ “No son of mine is going to be a part of a goddamn dance class.” His father is down the hall behind a closed door, but his voice is loud enough that Nate can hear it from his room. "What do you think they're going to think of him, huh?"  
_

_ He can hear his mother’s voice, but she’s too soft spoken for him to make out the words. _

_ “I don’t care, Nancy! He’s not going and that’s the end of that.” The slamming of a door has Nate jumping and he freezes, holding his breath when his father appears in his doorway. “Nathan, you look at me right now.” It is not a question, he looks up right away. His father’ face is red with anger. “You will not ask for anything like this ever again. Do I make myself clear?” _

_ Nate nods his head in understanding. _

_ His father squints his eyes. “You ain’t a queer, are you son?” _

_ “No, father.” _

_ “Good.” With a huff his dad leaves. _

_ Nate doesn’t understand, not really. All he wants to do is learn to dance, it doesn’t have to mean anything. And what’s wrong with liking boys? He has lots of male friends, is he not supposed to enjoy being around them? The logic doesn’t make sense to his eight year old mind. _

_ A few minutes later his mother enters the room and sits down next to him on the bed. “Nate, sweetheart, I’m sorry.” _

_ He puts on a brave face, his mother suffers too much for him to add to her burden. “It’s okay, mama, I’ll just join football like the other boys.” It’s impossible for him to hide his disappointment, but he tries anyways. “It should be fun.” _

_ He can tell his mother knows he’s lying, or at the very least she’s not convinced that he’s fully invested in this new course of action, but she doesn’t push the issue. She leans down to press a kiss to his forehead. “No matter what your father says, just know that you should always be yourself, because I’ll love you no matter what, okay?” _

_ He wants to ask about liking boys, but she looks tired. He’ll ask tomorrow. “Okay.” _

_ “No go wash up and then come downstairs to help me with supper.” _

  
  


A snapping noise jerks Nate out of his memories. “Wanderer, you with me?” He blinks a couple times to bring himself back into focus before turning to Deacon.

It’s hard for him to remember that that prejudice isn’t really a thing anymore, hard to shake the idea that he has to look over his shoulder, make sure he’s not being too friendly around men, hard for him to be honest with the people around him.

But he can’t let his problem put synth’s lives in danger, so he shakes those thoughts away and looks at his partner, “yeah, sorry.”

“No problemo, my friend,” a sly grin crosses Deacon’s face, “or should I say husband?”

This mission is going to kill him.

///

“For a town that’s responsible for killing so many people and synths, it sure does look unsuspecting.”

Deacon takes the binoculars from Nate to take a look for himself. “See all those turrets? That’s a lot of security for this tiny settlement.” He drops the binoculars and looks at Nate. “Then again, those Minutemen settlements you helped build up are well fortified.”

Nate smiles at him. “Gotta protect my people.”

“Of course.”

The two of them arrived a few hours earlier, expecting to have to do some form of reconnaissance or intel gathering, but so far the only person to leave the town’s walls is a man Dodds’ previously identified as Swanson, the person the settlement uses to administer their SAFE test.

The sun is beginning to set, however, and that signals that it’s time to head into the town. Catching them around meal time is their best shot at making sure everyone’s guard is lowered, and will give them an opportunity to sneak around under the guise of settling in.

Nate can feel his heart rate tick up a few paces, both from being so close to being undercover, and from what he’s going to have to do to convince them that he’s married to Deacon.

“Sun’s setting, you ready?”

_ No. _“Yeah, I’m ready.”

Deacon takes a second to look at him, Nate worries that his hesitation is clear on his face, but Deacon just nods and stands, offering his hand to help Nte off the ground. He takes it, but instead of Deacon dropping it once he’s on his feet, he simply rotates his grip so they’re properly holding hands. When he speaks there’s a slight accent, and Nate knows that he’s fully in character. “Now c’mon, hon, we don’t want to be stuck outside when the sun goes down. Who knows what kind of creatures will come out at night.”

The pet name has him feeling hot. He struggles to remember their cover. A crow caws in the trees above them, startling Nate. For a second he thinks he sees glowing eyes, his nerves really are playing tricks on him.

He shakes himself back into reality. “Sure thing, Sam, let’s get a move on.”

When they arrive at the entrance his look of wonder is entirely genuine, what he can see of the town through the crack in the gate looks so pristine he can almost pretend he’s back in 2077.

“Hey there, you lookin’ to get into Covenant?”

His cover is James Byrn, husband of Sam Byrn, a farmer from just outside Diamond City who prefers the company of his books over people. It wouldn’t make sense for him to speak first between the two of them, so he lets Deacon take the lead. As Deacon makes small talk with Swanson, about their marriage, Nate lets himself pretend, falling into his role more easily than ever before. He nods along to Deacon’s re-telling and adds in a few details to make it seem like he’s following along. As they speak with Swanson their hands remain clasped together, and on occasion Deacon will lean into his side. Nate’s heart soars before he has to remind himself that this is fake, this affection isn’t real.

Deacon is forced to wait out of hearing range as Nate answers the questions for the SAFE test, Swanson smiles at him when it’s over and calls for Deacon.

When Deacon’s finishes there’s a frown on Swanson’s face, but he lets them into the city. Nate sees him pull a man aside and whisper into his ear. Nervousness tingles under his skin but he knows that now isn’t the time to cause a scene, and based off the way Deacon squeezes his hand, he saw Swanson’s odd behavior.

They stop in and see a woman named Penny Fitzgerald, she’s much too cheery and it’s obvious that’s she’s talking to try and hide her nervousness. Before they can leave, the man Swanson spoke to enters the store. He introduces himself as Jacob, the mayor of Covenant. They make small talk for a moment, about the town and their recent marriage, and are about to excuse themselves to leave, when Jacob stops them.

“Now you two are guest in this town, and celebrating such a wonderful thing, I must insist that you join me at my house for dinner tonight.”

His fake smile makes nausea roll around in Nate’s stomach, but it would be suspicious of them to deny the offer.

Deacon looks at him, “what do you say, James, are we going to dinner?”

For some reason he hears Nora’s voice in the back of his mind.

  
  


_ “I don’t understand why you won’t just go to dinner with him.” _

_ Nate finishes steering the tiny plastic spoon into Shaun’s mouth, succeeding in getting most of it on his two year old’s face instead of in his mouth, before turning to his wife. “Nora, if we get caught-” _

_ “If you get caught you’re two men on business, discussing the details of a contract.” _

_ He sighs and places the spoon down onto the baby tray. Two days ago Nate’s long-term boyfriend, David, invited him to dinner. The offer wasn’t unusual, he usually ate dinner with him three times a week. The difference this time is that David wants to go out to a real restaurant, in public. As soon as he came home that day he told Nora, and she has been trying to convince him ever since to accept the offer. _

_ Her support is the best, and the worst, part of their marriage. Six years ago when she had approached him with an offer to marry he laughed in her face. Nora has been his best friend since childhood, when she punched a boy in the face who was bullying him on the playground. He had repaid her with a jello cup and they’ve been inseparable ever since. _

_ She’s the only person in the world who knows he has no interest in women. _

_ Which is why, after she explained to him why they should wed, they were married no more than a month later. Her logic was this: if he marries a woman, the questions on why he’s 24 with no girlfriend or wife would stop, and if she marries a man, she can get the written approval needed to enroll in college. An opportunity denied to her on numerous occasions, as she did not have a father or a husband to give her the approval. _

_ It worked perfectly, for a while. He was able to seek out relationships with men as the watching eyes had stopped following him, and she enrolled in law school- one of only two women in the state to attend. _

_ Then, just shy of a year into their marriage, the neighbors began to inquire about children. _

_ Nora didn’t want children, not yet, as getting pregnant now would stop her education before it had even really started, never mind the fact that Nate wouldn’t be able to do his part to conceive a child. _

_ So, Nora and him spent hours pouring over their options before finding a plan that would work. Using his connections at work, Nate located a doctor willing to forge paperwork for them, and three trips and a few hundred dollars later, the Richards’ possessed documentation stating that Nora was in danger of dying if she ever got pregnant. Using those papers they then traveled three states away to an orphanage, where they adopted a boy, Shaun, who’s parents had died in a car accident, and had no other family to speak of. He was only six months old. _

_ Now, nearly two years later, Shaun has grown into a wonderful little boy, and even bears a similar resemblance to Nora. _

_ “I’m just worried. The things that could happen if people were to find out that we’re..” _

_ Nate closes his eyes and leans into Nora’s touch as she places her hand on his shoulder. Her presence is always a comfort, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to repay her for all her kindness. When he opens them she’s kneeling in front of him. _

_ “Nathan Richards you are one of the bravest men I’ve ever met in my life. Societal views mean you have to hide who you are from the world, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have the opportunity to be happy. Please, go to dinner with Daniel, and if you’re still worried, I’ll go with you- and I promise not to embarass you.” _

_ He feels relaxed at her solution, and appreciative of her understanding. Being with him means that she has to give up her own chance at marrying someone, having her own kids, not having to lie to everyone they know. Her kindness is never ending, and Nate doesn’t know how he ever got this lucky. _

_ “I love you, you know?” _

_ She smiles at him, eyes bright. “I love you, too.” _

_ He goes to the dinner. _

  
  


“I think that would be nice.” Nate hopes his smile is convincing.

“Wonderful! Please take a moment to settle in, and then meet me at my place around 7.” With that the mayor exits, leaving Deacon and Nate to get ready for their evening.

When they finally arrive for dinner, it’s blinding clear that the Mayor is suspicious of Deacon. He spends most of the meal asking questions and trying to find flaws in the story that gets told. Nate knows that Deacon’s backstory is solid, and he’s very good at his job, so there’s no real need to worry, but he can’t help but feel fear.

He doesn’t want to say the wrong thing and ruin the mission.

“What about you, James?”

Nate was not paying attention to the conversation. “I’m sorry, I must have zoned out there for a second, what were we talking about?”

Deacon smiled at him, and places a hand on his arm. “We were talking about the farm, honey. the Mayor wanted to know what you think of the place?”

With that reminder Nate is able to pick up on the backstory he needs to regurgitate. “Oh yes,” he plasters on a smile and turns to the Mayor, “I love it! I don’t know if Sam told you but we spent quite a few caps buying it from the old owner. I think it’s one of the best purchases that we’ve made.”

“Except for that brahmin.” Deacon supplements, a teasing tone in his voice. Previously, they had decided that their cover would be more plausible if they had something to pettily argue over in front of people. They chose the purchase of a brahmin, simple, yet enough to run with.

Nate fakes a tone of loving annoyance. “Yes, of course, how could I forget when you bought Felicity- without asking me first.”

“You have to admit, she’s doing well.”

“And yet we still haven’t made our caps back, even selling her milk.”

Before Deacon can continue the argument, they’re interrupted. “Now, now,” the Mayor raises a hand to stop them, “there’s no need for that tonight. You’re on your honeymoon, don’t fight.”

“You’re right,” Deacon answers, “no need to argue over the past.” Nate offers up a begrudging acceptance to that and the rest of the evening goes off without a problem. Even if Deacon is subject to strange glances and glares from the Covenant Mayor.

It’s only once they return to the bunkhouse that Nate realizes there’s only one bed.

Deacon doesn’t mention anything, just sits down and begins to peel off his boots. They drop to the floor with a thud and Nate mistakes it for his own heartbeat. It won’t be the first time they’ve shared a sleeping area together, but it is the first time they’ll be so close.

They spent all evening sharing casual touches and loving remarks, faking a married couple, and it’s messing with his head. When he had to pretend to be married to Nora, at least he didn’t have real feelings to hide, making it hard to stay sane. Nate hoped that he could find some time away from Deacon to re-remind himself that this is all fake. He’s not really married to the man across the room from him, they’re friends and partners, that’s it.

Instead they have to share a twin sized bed between two full grown men.

If he doesn’t make a move to get ready to sleep, Deacon is going to notice. The spy is much too observant and if he looks up to see Nate staring at him, or their bed, he’s going to start to put things together. Robotically, Nate begins to pull of his shoes, leaning against the dresser behind him for support. Next to come off is his jeans, he focuses and folding them and placing them on the dresser so he doesn’t have to look at Deacon. He keeps his boxers and shirt on.

When he finally amases the courage to turn around he’s greeted by the sight of a shirtless Deacon. He’s frozen for a second before his limbs begin to work, and he manages to tear his eyes away before he can be caught staring. As he moves the blanket to take his side of the bed, Deacon speaks.

“Do you think they’ll come bother us for breakfast?”

Deacon’s voice seems loud as it breaks the silence that had stretched out between them. It makes Nate realize just how much tension was in the room.

“Maybe, the Mayor seems to have taken an interest in you,” Nate slides under the blanket and leans up against the pillows behind him, he drops his voice to a whisper. “They think you’re a synth, you know?”

“They wouldn’t be the first.”

Deacon’s teasing him, referencing the time before Nate knew what kind of person Deacon was, and how he fell for the other man’s lies a few times. The joke breaks some of the tension, parting it like a wave. Nate feels like he can breathe normally again.

“You’re just mad that I don’t fall for your tricks anymore Mr. I-Founded-The-Railroad-70-Years-Ago.” That has Deacon laughing at him, and while the laughter feels a little strained, Nate feels relaxed enough to settle under the blankets with minimal stress.

Deacon, however, is still sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to him, and if Nate didn’t know better, he would guess that his partner looks nervous. “Well, guess we have to keep up the ruse throughout the night then,” Deacon turns enough to look at him, “I prefer to be the big spoon, less huggy that way.”

It reminds Nate of the conversation they had about Deacon’s wife. He had said something like, ‘I’m not the hugging type, so, yeah, good talk,’ and other than the fake touches they’ve shared while under cover, Nate has noticed that Deacon tends to avoid touching unless he has to. He doesn’t want to make Deacon uncomfortable, not if he can help it.

“That’s fine with me.” Nate rolls then, turning his back towards Deacon, and reaches out to turn off the lamp on the bedside table. The room goes dark then, the only light coming from the moon through the window. The bed shifts as Deacon slides under the blanket and finally lays down. They’re both perfectly still, but the closeness means that Nate can feel Deacon’s breath on the back of his neck. He wonders if Deacon is wearing his sunglasses.

“Night, Wanderer.” The use of his codename has Nate fighting against his cover. It’s not fair, Deacon can’t use his name and expect Nate to not get mixed signals. Then again, Deacon has never done anything purposefully malicious before, and as far as he’s tracking Nate doesn’t have those kinds of feelings.

Nate takes a silent breath and shuts his eyes. “Goodnight, Deacon.”

He wakes later that night to find Deacon’s arm slung across his waist and the other man’s nose buried in his shoulder. By what he can feel, Deacon isn’t wearing his glasses. Nate lets himself pretend that this is the normal, that this is real, before he drifts back off into sleep with a smile on his face.

From outside the window, atop the building across the settlement, a crow caws, its eyes glowing red before it flies off into the night.

///

The next day, at breakfast, the Mayor announces that he’s leading a hunting party, and Deacon and Nate decide that it’s time to explore his house. Deacon takes him by the hand, leading him through the town under the ruse of a nice walk. They’re nearly to the last house at the end of the road, but before they can make it, they’re stopped by Mrs. Fitzgerald, who waves them into her shop.

Nate tries to hide his annoyance, her fake chipper attitude does nothing to hide her true nervous nature. It’s clear this town is hiding something, but it’s even more clear that all the residents are involved… or at the very least aware of what is going on. She, not so subtly, informs them that the Mayor’s house is off-limits while he’s gone.

The earlier suspicion, that she only called out to them to keep them from heading behind the house, is now confirmed. Deacon drops false promises that they would never impose on someone’s privacy by attempting to enter their home without permission. Nate nods his head, playing the part of the understanding husband.

After another warning, which feels like a thinly veiled threat, Penny lets them go.

It takes them longer, but they do manage to find a way around through the alleyways between the houses, a way that can’t be seen from the general store. Nate just hopes that they reassured Mrs. Fitzgerald enough that she doesn’t come snooping.

They wait a minute, and when all seems clear, Deacon climbs inside the side window and Nate moves to take watch from the alley. The back of the settlement, between the buildings, looks just like the alleyway down the street from his childhood house. The sight of it reminds Nate of the last time he was there.

  
  


_ When he enters the alley, Owen is already waiting for him. The teen pushes off the wall and reaches for him, pulling him into a hug. Nate doesn’t return it as fiercely as he normally would. His reluctance does not go unnoticed. _

_ “What’s wrong?” A crease forms on the other boy’s forehead and he draws his eyebrows together. Concern is written across his entire face and Nate looks at the ground, shame filling him. _

_ There’s no attempt to beat around the bush, or lie. “I leave for Basic Training tomorrow morning.” The words hurt him as they come out, and he doesn’t look Owen in the eye, but he does hear the fast inhalation of breath. _

_ “When did… when did you Enlist?” Nate can hear the betrayal in his voice. _

_ “I was-” _

_ “Is this why you’ve been avoiding me?” The question hangs in the air between them until Nate nods his head, he’s still looking away. “You bastard.” When he finally looks up there are tears in Owen’s eyes, he didn’t want this. _

_ “Owen-” _

_ “I don’t want to hear it, Nate!” The shouts echoes off the walls, but for once Nate isn’t worried about getting caught. “I thought you didn’t want to see me anymore, I thought I did something wrong.” _

_ Instinctively, Nate reaches out and tugs Owen forward, tucking him into his chest. The teen tries to fight, push Nate off, but he holds on. He needs to explain, he needs him to know that this wasn’t his choice. “I didn’t Enlist. I was drafted.” _

_ Immediately Owen stops fighting and looks up to meet Nate’s eye. “What?” _

_ “I got the letter two weeks ago,” he feels Owen tense but he tightens his hold, “I was terrified. I didn’t want to tell you because I wanted to pretend like it wasn’t real, and I knew if I saw you that I wouldn’t be able to lie.” _

_ The fight seems to have drained from the other boy because he sags into Nate, letting him hold him. “Fuck, Nate, what do we do?” _

_ He doesn’t know. Nate thought if he ignored the letter, pretended like he never saw it, that it would all just go away. He’s only been 18 for a few months, and even with the war and the draft, he never thought he’d be the one to get the call. Then, two days after stashing the letter in his sock drawer, he came home to find his mother, eyes rimmed red, sitting with it at their kitchen table. _

_ Together they cried, but Nate knew that he could never run the risk of his mother going to jail for hiding him, so that evening he went to the recruiting station and signed his acknowledgment. They gave him his paperwork, shot him full of a bunch of vaccines, took his blood, and gave him his shipment date. The whole time he felt sick, but there was nothing he could do. _

_ “It’s an honor,” they told him, “you should be proud to serve your Country.” _

_ “But I’m all my mother has, my father died years ago.” _

_ “You’ll have an option to send her a portion of your pay, she’ll be fine.” _

_ “I was supposed to go to college.” _

_ “The Army will help you pay for it when you get out.” _

_ “I don’t want to kill anyone.” _

_ “No one does, son, no one does. Now sign this form so you can leave and prepare to ship out.” _

_ “Yes, Sir.” _

_ He’s already told Nora, couldn’t keep such a secret from his best friend, she knew there was something wrong the first time they saw each other. She offered to run away with him. “We’ll go to Mexico, it’s always warm there”, but they both knew that that could never happen. She promises to watch his mother, to look out for her and make sure she’s okay, but he still feels numb, scared, unsure of his future. _

_ But Owen is shaking and crying, and he doesn’t want to tell him that he’s lost hope, that he’s convinced that he’s going to die, that he’s terrified to leave his mother alone. So he hugs him tighter and drops a kiss onto the top of his head. “I don’t know, but I am sorry. I shouldn’t have kept this from you.” _

_ “It’s okay,” Owen’s words are muffled by the cotton of his shirt, “I understand.” And he does, in a few short months he’ll turn 18, too, and the fear of the draft will become a reality, not some far away nightmare. _

_ They part with a kiss that feels like a goodbye, not a see-you-later. As soon as he’s able, Nate sends letters throughout his training, and continues to send them after he gets sent to Anchorage. He only gets one back, and after reading the contents of the letter, he never tries to contact Owen again. He didn’t wait, and Nate refuses to let his heart break. _

_ He finds out a few weeks later that Nora slashed the tires on Owen’s car, and he feels a little better. _

  
  


The memory hurts, but he pushes it away, he had his time to grieve that relationship, and he’s not some teenager anymore. He’s got more important things to worry about. Like his partner, who still hasn’t returned from the house.

Deacon’s been inside for five minutes already, and Nate is starting to worry. Mrs. Fitzgerald had looked extremely suspicious when they ducked into the alley across the street, and the longer they’re there the more worried he gets. Something tells him to peek around the corner, and when he does he sees Penny locking up her store, and then she turns towards the Mayor’s house, heading right for them.

_ Shit. _

Moving quickly, Nate ducks back into the space between the buildings and rushes to the back of the house. Deacon is halfway out the window, but he can’t seem to find relief. They don’t have time to run or hide, there’s no cover back here. They’re going to get caught.

He needs a realistic reason to be hiding behind houses in the middle of the day. What possible reason could a married couple have to- he gets an idea. He ignores the fluttering in his stomach and heart as the idea takes shape, this is business, not pleasure.

As soon as Deacon’s feet are on the ground he springs into action. He reaches out to grip the other man by his wrist and tugs him close, whispering. “Do you trust me?” The words feel cliche, but he can’t stop them now that they’re out.

“What?” Deacon’s forehead has wrinkles, showing his confusion.

“Deacon.”

“I-,” the hesitation hurts, “yes.”

“Then just go with it.”

And with that Nate releases Deacon’s wrist, pushes him against the building, and leans in, kissing him like he’s wanted to for weeks.

Deacon’s lips are soft and he tastes like cigarettes. Deacon’s hands, which flew up to Nate’s shoulders as soon as he had shoved him, are gripping tightly, and- are they pulling him in closer?

Just as he’s forgetting why exactly he needed to kiss Deacon, a very startled, “oh god, I’m so sorry,” forces them apart.

Nate wipes the back of his mouth, trying to look sheepish instead of giddy. His heart is pounding, both from nearly getting caught, and from finally getting to kiss Deacon. By the time he gets his head about him, Mrs. Fitzgerald has already stuttered out a couple more apologies and excused herself. He doesn’t trust himself to look at his partner yet, instead he peeks down the alley, making sure they’re really alone.

He’s still searching when he asks, “you get the information?”

“Yeah, we should head back to the bunkhouse and talk.” Deacon sounds weird, like he’s not sure of his own words. Nate looks at him, but the sunglasses hide any emotion from view.

“Lead the way.”

///

“So this compound is hidden behind a lake,” Deacon turns to him, “there was one just outside the gate just down the road.”

“That has to be the one.”

The evidence that Deacon gathered isn’t much, but it is enough to give them a location, and a better idea of what’s going on with the kidnapped synths and settlers. It’s… disgusting. And it makes him mad. These are people, and the settlers here- while they might not be doing any of the cutting or stabbing or torturing- are compliant to the whole process.

And they have to spend the rest of the day pretending that they don’t know the monsters that they’re walking around with. Nate’s only comfort is that by the time tomorrow tonight is over, the whole operation will be shut down.

As long as they follow the plan.

Which is this: spend the day holed up inside the bunkhouse under the presumption of their honeymoon and “alone-time”, then in the afternoon, Nate is to buy supplies from Penny, faking a trip into the woods for himself and Deacon, while Deacon gathers up their things from the bunkhouse. They’ll meet at the gate as the sun starts to set, then they’ll head outside the gates and circle around to their hidden armor and weapon stash. They both have pistols, as no sane Wastelander would go anywhere without a weapon, but his axe and shotgun, along with Deacon’s rifle, are hidden and secure away from the settlement. Once they’ve got their supplies they’ll head to the compound, fight their way through whatever security is inside, rescue the synths, and hopefully Agent Dodds, and be back to HQ by the next afternoon.

Of course, nothing goes how they expect it to.

They get roped into another dinner the next night, this time with Penny, who spends half of it apologizing to them for interrupting their “private moment” and the other half listening to her give them advice on how to sneak around so they can have some “personal time”. Nate spends the entire dinner trying not to think about their kiss, and how desperately he wants to have an excuse to do it again, while also trying not to think about the two of them taking Penny’s advice and heading out to be alone.

That night Nate wakes, again, to find himself pressed up against Deacon, tucked close into the other man’s side. He tries not to enjoy the feeling of Deacon’s body pressed against his own, he fails.

The next day Nate gets dragged into helping Mr. Fitzgerald with the crops, all because he’s trying to be inconspicuous and got caught spying on him. Nate fakes an interest in crops for their fake farm, and winds up spending four hours learning about mutfruit and tatos from Brian, and how to take care of them. By the time he’s done the sun is well past set, and he’s too exhausted to do much but fall into bed. Deacon tells him that he snuck out to check the lake. He found an entrance, they have to make their move soon.

Nate sleeps through the entire night, tired enough that he doesn’t wake once.

On their third morning, things seem to be going to plan, until Nate is waiting by the gate, and his partner is nowhere to be found.

He waits 15 minutes past their meeting time before he heads back to the bunkhouse to look for him. When he arrives the room looks the same, their things are still laid out, nothing has been packed, and Deacon is nowhere to be seen. Nate starts to worry. After searching around the bunkhouse he heads back into Covenant. He asks around, to Penny and a few other settlers, before he finds Jacob.

“Excuse me, have you seen Sam?”

The Mayor turns to him and when he smiles there’s something not quite right, he looks like he’s hiding something. There’s mild panic in his eyes. “I can’t say that I have. Did you check the bunkhouse?”

“I just came from there.”

“Well, this is a small town I’m sure if you ask around enough he’ll pop up. Now if you’ll excuse me I have important matters to attend to.” Without waiting for a reply he turns away, leaving Nate alone in the center of the settlement, wondering where his partner has run off to. If he thought they were in danger, he should have found a way to warn Nate, and he wouldn’t have strayed from the plan unless it was something serious.

Nate is left struggling for what to do, so he returns to their room.

Upon a more thorough inspection, Nate finds a med-x needle carelessly kicked under the desk, forgotten. He knows that it wasn’t there before, as Deacon and him had done a search for listening devices. He also knows that Deacon wouldn’t be stupid enough, or reckless enough, to use chems while on a mission.

Which means someone was in their room.

_ Did they drug him? They clearly suspected that he was a synth, and the Mayor was being very dodgy… _

His heart stops.

_ The Compound. If they took him, he’ll be there. _

///

As Nate approaches the lake, Deacon’s rifle heavy in his hands, a sense of dread washes over him. It’s been hours since he last saw Deacon, and if they really did take him, thinking that he’s a synth, there’s no telling what they may have done to him since he went missing. From what Agent Dodds reported, and what they learned from the Mayor’s computer, it won’t be good.

Nate just hopes he isn’t too late.

As soon as the lake is in view, he has no problems finding the entrance. Avoiding the water, he makes his way through the door and into the underground building. From where he enters there’s no clear path for him to take so he heads right.

He’s more than grateful that his pistol has a silencer, and he stows Deacon’s rifle on his back in favor of using the more quiet option. As he passes down a hallway he notices what looks like an interrogation room, filled with miscellanous instruments of torture, and more than a little blood. His brain supplies an image of his partner strapped to the table being cut and burned for information, or a confession, and he feels both sick and murderous.

The holotape he finds inside the room doesn’t help, as he listens to some poor soul beg for mercy, desperately telling the interrogator that he isn’t a synth, that he’s just a person. He wonders if the person on the tape is already dead, if they came too late. He leaves the holo on the table.

The next room provides a good outlet for the anger that’s building up inside. Two guards are oblivious to his presence and he takes them both out, refusing to acknowledge the satisfaction he feels when their brain splatter the wall. There’s a key in one of the guard’s pockets and Nate takes it, stashing it away for future use. There’s only one more hallway left, that he can tell, and he just hopes that Deacon is somewhere down the way, because if he’s not- then he has no idea where the spy could be.

He’s about to peek through a window, into what he assumes is another interrogation room, when he hears voices.

“You’re a lot harder to break than the other synths,” there’s a pause and the distinct crackle of electricity, “but I’ll get you to tell me everything.”

Then, there’s a buzzing sound, the smell of burning flesh, and a cut off yelp. Someone is being tortured. The buzzing dies down and Nate can hear someone sucking in air, he can’t even imagine what getting electrocuted with a stun baton feels like. Nate knows he can’t look through the glass, there’s a possibility he might be seen, so he’ll have to be quick. Open the door, locate the target, pull the trigger. There’s no chance for a mistake, they might kill whoever is inside if he’s not fast enough. And the longer he takes to move, the more the poor soul inside gets hurt.

He counts to three, and then rips open the door.

The man inside, doing the torturing, is holding a surgical knife in his hand, and before Nate can pull the trigger on his pistol he takes the blade right to the face. He has no idea what luck he’s incurred that it misses his eye, but it does, scraping his cheek instead. Unfortunately, by the time he recovers from the attack the man is right in front of him, baton drawn.

Nate feels nothing but pain when the baton’s open end touches his arm. He’s sure he screams, but the sound feels far away, like he’s hearing it from the other end of a tunnel. Bright light pulses behind his eyelids, blinding him, even though his eyes are closed. When the baton stops producing the shock he realizes that he’s on his hands and knees on the ground, and his left arm is shockingly red.

From the corner of his eye he sees the baton again, and instinct is the only thing that keeps him from freaking out. Moving with thinking, he rolls to the side, barreling right into the torturer. The man goes down, and his weapon goes flying, he’s defenseless. In one quick move Nate brings his fist down onto the man’s face, and he feels the crack of cartilage as his hand makes contact.

Before the man can get his bearings Nate locates his pistol and unloads three rounds into his attacker’s face.

As soon as it’s over, Nate remembers why he entered the room. He turns his head to the right, looks past the table full of knives, and feels the floor drop out from under him.

Attached to the ceiling is a loop of metal, and wrapped around that is a pair of metal handcuffs, designed to force the wearer onto their tippy-toes. Firmly secured inside the cuffs is exactly who he came here looking for.

“Deacon?” His partner doesn’t respond. His head is drooped down, chin to his chest, and his eyes are closed, sunglasses nowhere to be seen. He’s shirtless, and his chest is covered in cuts, all of them fresh. Blood is everywhere. There’s a large burn mark that matches the one on Nate’s arm, spanning from his ribs up to his pectoral muscle. Nate calls out his name again, and Deacon’s lashes flutter, but he doesn’t open his eyes.

Nate feels frozen, his limbs refuse to cooperate and he’s not sure if it’s left over damage from the shock baton, or the view he has of his partner, and friend, bloody and bruised. Whichever one it is, it’s keeping him from moving, and it’s not until a pained whimper escapes from Deacon that Nate gets his act together.

It only takes a second for him to find the cuff key, left carelessly on the table. He imagines that it was left there to torment whoever was chained up, make them see that their escape is close, but not close enough to reach.

Nate wishes he could kill the man who did this again.

Deacon’s skin is cold when Nate reaches up to check his pulse, it’s faint but steady. At the contact Deacon stirs, attempting to lift his head.

“Don’t move, I’m gonna get you down.” Nate keeps his voice quiet, he doesn’t want anyone to find them here. The response he gets is a pained grunt, and Nate’s heart lurches. Being as careful as he can he steps forward, letting Deacon’s arms wrap around his neck. As soon as he’s sure the other man is secure he reaches up and unhooks the metal loop. Deacon drops like dead weight, but a faint whimper of relief flows out of him, ghosting across Nate’s neck. “I’ve got you, don’t worry.”

His arm hurts, pain emanates out from where he got shocked, so he uses his legs to lower the both of them to the floor. Once there he rotates towards the wall, removing the arms from around his neck and lowering them into Deacon’s lap. The spy is conscious now, but barely. His eyes are open, not quite aware of the situation, and that’s when Nate notices that they’re blue. Bright blue. Deacon lifts his head to look at him, recognition passes over his face. His eyes are filled with pain and… relief? It’s not an appropriate time to stare, so he looks away. He sees Deacon’s bag against the far wall and he grabs it. Finds a shirt, helps Deacon put it on.

“You okay?” He knows the answer, knows Deacon is going to lie.

“Never better,” Deacon tries to stand but his leg gives out, Nate offers his arm as a steadying tool. They stand together and after a few moments his partner is steady enough to stand on his own. Nate gives him his rifle and pulls out his shotgun.

“Are you sure you’re good to fight? The way back is cleared, you could wait for me at the entrance.”

Deacon shakes his head, “that’s a no-go.”

Nate wonders if maybe he’s scared to be left alone again, he doesn’t push the issue, just makes a silent mental note to put himself between Deacon and any danger they might run into.

“This place is run by a woman named Roslyn Chambers. Her lab is at the end of the hall.”

“Let’s go stop her.”

The two of them pick their way towards the last room, listening for any sound from behind the door. There’s a set of footsteps, and the two of them pause, trying to figure out what they might find. When the walking stops, and doesn’t start again, Deacon signal for him to open the door. Nate twists the handle slowly, relieved when it makes no sound, before raising to his full height and entering the room, weapon raised.

Standing with her back towards them is a woman dressed in a lab coat. At the sound of the door she turns towards them. Even though they both have their weapons trained on her, she doesn’t make a move to raise her own.

“You must be the husband I was told about.” Confusion clouds Nate’s mind for a second, then he realizes that they still think he’s James and Deacon is Sam- their cover is still in-tact. “You realize that this man here is most likely a synth.” she gestures towards Deacon.

“He’s not a synth, but even if he was what does it matter,” the anger he felt earlier begins to bubble up again. “What you’re doing here is wrong. You’re torturing people.”

“No,” her tone is harsh, “we are eradicating synths before they can do harm. They’ve done enough already.”

He ignores her last comment, half the Commonwealth believes that synths are the cause of their heartache, their problems, and they’re mostly wrong. “You’re telling me that every single person you’ve ever brought down here has been verified to be a synth?” Nate knows that using logic against a person like this is unlikely to work, but he still wants to try and get through to her.

The doctor falters, “some have been discovered to be human”, but then her back straightens and she levels him with a distrusting look, “but it’s all in the name of protecting the Commonwealth from synths. A few mistakes have been made, but we’re narrowing down our test.”

“You’re insane.”

“People said the same thing about Oppenheimer.”

Her argument is ridiculous. “His nuclear bombs ended the world.”

Doctor Chambers sneers at him, “I don’t need to listen to you, but I am willing to make you an offer,” Nate knows he won’t take it. “You leave, let me continue to do my work, and I’ll let you walk out of here with your synth abomination.”

The anger rolling around inside of him rises from a simmer to a boil. “Do not talk about him like that.”

She smirks at him, tilts her head like she analyzing him. “You know that’s more than likely not your husband. He was probably replaced after the two of you met,” she steps towards him, and he re-raises his shotgun from where it had lowered during their conversation. She stops walking but continues to smile at him, eerily. “Don’t you want to know for sure who he is, prove to yourself that you haven’t been spending time with a liar, a deceiver?”

Nate has heard enough, and with one pull of the trigger, Doctor Rosalyn Chambers is no more.

They don’t spend any more time in the Compound than necessary, all the cages in Chambers’ room are empty, apart from a mess of dried blood. If Agent Dodds was taken here, they’re too late, and as for anyone else that may have been brought here, they’re too late for them too.

///

Clearing Covenant is just as easy as Nate suspected it would be. The people there were monsters, but they weren’t fighters. Deacon writes up a quick dead drop while Nate signals out to Preston. There’s no reason they can’t turn Covenant into something good, and Deacon says it’s too exposed to be a safehouse.

Neither of them want to stay there, so Nate leads them to Starlight Drive-in. The guards on night-shift recognize their General immediately and wave them in. Nate tries not to feel disappointed when Deacon takes off for the shared quarters, leaving him to sleep by himself for the first time in days.

No matter how many blankets he uses, Nate can’t seem to stay warm. And no matter how hard he tries to forget it, all he can think about was the look in Deacon’s eyes when he realized Nate was there to save him, and the feel of the other man’s lips on his own.

When the sun rises, shining its rays through the tattered blinds, Nate finds that he didn’t sleep a wink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it this far, have a cookie, and while you're munching away, why not leave a comment and a kudo? I'd love to hear if you want more to this fic, and possibly some ideas of what you want to see happen.
> 
> As of this current moment (19 Nov 19) I don't have a single word written for chapter 2. You can change that with kind words, ideas, or whatever else you want to give me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate learns a startling truth that leaves him feeling broken and lost, and he disappears to find a distraction for his anger. Deacon comes to terms with how the vault dweller makes him feel, but is his realization too late?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who left a comment. I tried to incorporate as many ideas as possible into this chapter, and I apologize if someone's suggestion got left out. There's always chapter 3.

_ Icy cold trickles down Nate’s spine, waking him from his slumber. As his eyes adjust to the darkness he sees two strangers standing in front of Nora’s decompression pod. _

_ No, he thinks, her cryogenic freezing pod. The bastards froze us. _

_ His limbs feel heavy and sluggish as he leans forward, trying to get a better look. His trained eye sees the gun first, but it stays by the strange man’s side, but his hold on it betrays his experience. He doesn’t fear the weapon in his hand, he respects it. Nate recognizes the sign of a killer and fear grips at his heart. Neither the killer nor his partner in the hazmat suit have seen him yet, they don’t know he’s awake. Silently, he searches for a way out as Nora’s pod creaks open. _

_ He’s still desperately searching for an escape when Nora begins to fight back. Shaun, old enough to understand the danger he’s in, begins to cry and cling to his mother’s leg, arms tight and face buried into the blue fabric of her vault suit. _

_ “Just give us the boy and everything will be okay.” _

_ The lie is obvious and Nora moves to press her hand between Shaun’s shoulder blades. “No. I’m not giving you Shaun.” _

_ Nate wants to be proud of her standing up to these kidnappers, but he knows if she fights back they’ll kill her. He doesn’t want them to take his son, but they can get Shaun back if he’s stolen, he can’t bring her back from the dead. _

_ The gun twitches and Nate realizes he has to do something. With a sharp bang of his fist on the glass, Nate makes his consciousness known. In that same second, the man with the gun turns towards the sound and Nora runs, pulling Shaun into her arms as she launches out of the pod. She slams her shoulder into the woman in the hazmat suit, knocking her to the floor. Nate goes to yell, warn her that the gun, which until now had been lazily aimed at the floor, is now pointed at her back. Before he can utter a word the loud sound of a high caliber bullet echoes in the room. _

_ Silence descends, and all Nate can hear is his own heavy breathing. _

_ No, he thinks. _

_ Get up, he begs. _

_ Nora please- Shaun- _

_ He can’t see where she fell, but the silence tells him that she’s not moving. That Shaun isn’t moving. Nate doesn’t think it’s possible, the likelihood that both got hit with one bullet, the chances are so low it’s just not possible. It’s just not- _

_ “You idiot!” The hazmat woman is still on the floor, but she pushes herself off the ground as she yells at the man who fired the gun. Who killed- “This was not how it was supposed to go.” _

_ “She ran, what was I supposed to do?” _

_ “You weren’t supposed to harm the boy! What are we supposed to do with a dead subject?” _

_ “You can still get what you need from him.” _

_ They’re arguing like he’s not there. Like he didn’t just see his best friend and child murdered right in front of him. Their argument fades as a ringing picks up in his ears, drowning out their words. Nora is dead. Shaun is dead. His family is gone. He can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t focus. Everything he loves and cares for is gone, taken by a bomb or a bullet. _

_ He looks up, not expecting to see the man who killed them standing right in front of him. There’s genuine shock in the man’s face. Nate can feel the murderous intentions in his own eyes and knows that this man recognizes the killer in him, just as Nate had recognized it earlier. _

_ He doesn’t need to say anything, the message on his face is clear: I will kill you. In any other circumstance, Nate wouldn’t want to hurt anyone, kill anyone. He had that chance in Anchorage and he couldn’t do it then. _

_ But the pain of loss that he feels right now makes him think he could do it, and the man in front of him sees that. _

_ “We shouldn’t leave him alive.” That sparks another argument, the woman calls him the backup, Kellogg argues that he’s not even the boy’s real father. _

_ “Fine, do whatever you want, but I have to deal with the child.” _

_ Nate makes a quick plan as the scarred man unlocks and opens his pod. But when he goes to launch himself, tear out the man’s throat with his teeth, he finds that he can’t move. His limbs haven’t thawed, he’s still frozen. _

_ The man yanks him from his pod and he lands stiffly on the ground. He can see Nora now, there’s a hole in her back, red with blood. Shaun is already gone, taken. For the best, maybe, did he really want to see him dead? Yes, he thinks, one last look at my son. _

_ Instead he only sees Nora, sweet and kind Nora. He knows he failed her, as a husband, a friend, a father, and he can never make up for that now, can never beg for her forgives. His hand flexes as he reaches for her. Before he can even extend his arm he’s ripped back and brought face to face with a gun. _

_ “Say hello to your family for me, killer.” _

_ Nate closes his eyes. _

  
  


Nate wakes in a cold sweat, alone in the escape tunnels of the Railroad HQ. He’s silently grateful that no one is back there to see the tears stuck in his eyes, one breath away from falling. Furiously he wipes at the tears with shaking hands, blending them into his skin as a way to hide the evidence.

When Nate emerged from his cryo pod, Nora had been nothing but bones, and he knew that he was too late to enact his revenge. Anyone responsible for the death of his family was long gone, and he knew that he would never be able to close the lid on that experience, that trauma would be with him forever.

Then, three days ago Nate and Deacon received a dead drop informing them that Conrad Kellogg, one of the Railroad’s number one enemies, had been located, and they were being sent to take him out. Kellogg was ranked up with Coursers when it came to threat level, so him and Deacon stocked up on heavier hitting weapons, and took off to the West.

When they got to Fort Hagen and Kellogg had begun to talk like he knew Nate, it confused him. The voice taunting him from the speakers had sounded familiar, but it had to have been at least 40 years since he was re-frozen, the possibility that this man was there, was the bastard who pulled the trigger, was extremely unlikely. He had to be at least 70 or 80 years old by now, and no one lived that long in the Commonwealth. But the way the man spoke, it was like he was there, and something in the back of Nate’s mind started to place the voice on the speakers over the images of the man in the vault.

“Don’t let him get in your head,” Deacon had said, “he probably just knows your situation from Institute records.” The logic was there, but it didn’t feel like the right answer.

His focus only declined more when they burst through the final door and saw Kellogg standing there. Nate felt like he had taken a power fist to the chest. The air rushed out of him and his vision blurred.

“How- how are you alive?”

Nate saw Deacon give a confused look, clearly not expecting him to actually recognize the man taunting them.

“Fun fact about the Institute, they’ve got a bunch of upgrades,” his eyes gleamed with barely restrained aggression, “and they don’t like to hire new mercenaries.” Kellogg had lowered his hands during the oversation and Nate had eyed the weapon on his hip carefully, not trusting him to keep their conversation civil. “But, we both know how this ends,” his smile transformed into something sinister. “I killed your wife, took your kid, hell you wouldn’t even recognize him now.”

Wait what? “Wait, what?”

Kellogg laughed and Nate felt sick. “That’s right, last you remember I put a .44 through his chest. You don’t know.” Kellogg leaned forward, like he had to keep it a secret, and then just above a whisper said, “we saved him. Brought him back to life after taking him. 13 hours of surgery and a hell of a lot of stimpacks, but he lived.”

Nate couldn’t breathe. Shaun was alive?

His son was alive and instead of searching for him he spent all his time helping settlers, playing spy, and wasting time on romance? All while the Institute did who knows what to his fucking kid. The anger Nate thought he had let go, after he buried Nora’s bones, after he mourned her and Shaun, after he built himself up piece by piece into someone he could recognize, someone not all consumed by fury and revenge, crashed down like a bucket of water on his head. It covered him, filled him, then poured off of him in waves.

The change in the air was palpable, Deacon and Kellogg noticed it at the same time, and after that it’s all a blur. Nate has no idea what happened, but he knows he came to outside, covered in blood, gripping Kellogg’s pistol like it would save him if only he held it a little tighter.

He found out a little from Deacon, but overall the man was tight lipped about what had happened, mostly just detailed his injuries and the information they found.

And what did they find? A brain full of metal and a computer entry confirming Shaun’s delivery back to the Institute, dated only a few weeks prior. His son had been in the Commonwealth, had been less than an hour walk from Sanctuary, and he had failed to save him, again.

Not to mention the fact that his son has to be a grown man by now. Nate doesn’t really know how long it takes for a body to fully decompose, but Nora was nothing but a skeleton wrapped in a vault suit when he finally escapes from his icy prison. Which means he’s missed most of his son’s life, lost out on years of parenting. There’s no telling what the Institute has brainwashed him to believe, for all he knows they’ve told him that both his parents are dead, or worse, that they abandoned him. No one would have been there to call them out on their lies, his son… his son probably hates him.

That’s not going to stop him, however. Even if Shaun fights him every step of the way, he’s going to get him out of the Institute’s clutches, he’s going to bring him home.

But how? Nate doesn’t know what his next move is.

He’s already doing what he can, Amari has the brain pieces, Tinker Tom is working on locating the Institute, and Deacon… Deacon is running down every lead he can, leaving Nate to sit, recovering from a bullet to the leg and a laser burn to the back, lost and angry and alone. He’s restless, he wants to do something, wants to find Shaun, but Carringotn says he can’t do field work, Desdemona keeps giving him concerning looks, like he might have a meltdown in the middle of HQ, and even Glory won’t spare with him anymore. He got too aggressive, aggravated his injuries and almost managed to hurt her, too.

He’s unhinged. The calm and peace that Nate had found after his mourning time is gone, replaced by the irritation of an exposed nerve. Every thought, action, dream is focused on Kellogg and Shaun, the Institute. He needs to take out this anger- at himself, at the man who murdered and kidnapped his family, and the whole Commonwealth for being so fucked up, so broken, so-

His Pip-Boy beeps, yanking him from his thought process. He unclenches his jaw, forces his shoulders to relax, takes a deep breath, finds some semblance of steady, then looks at the device. It’s a message from Preston.

<General. Raiders sighted inside the collegiate administration building. Settlement nearby is asking for support, but no patrol are nearby. Are you able to assist? Should we send a patrol anyways?>

Just what he needs, an outlet for this aggression. His reply is quick, and by the time it delivers he’s already half-way out the emergency escape tunnel, heading West.

<I’ll handle it, Garvey. No need for backup.>

///

When Deacon started looking into information about Wanderer’s kid, he never thought it would lead him on a wild goose chase down into an old vault to rescue Diamond City’s resident synth, but then again he’s not psychic.  _ Maybe I should have talked to Mama Murphy. _

That leads him into a very uncomfortable conversation with the detective, who he would rather not spend a lot of time with. It’s not that he doesn’t like Nick, quite the contrary actually. Valentine has helped the Railroad pretty regularly, supporting operations, meeting new synths and giving them pep talks and security, in fact Nick’s saved his life once or twice in the past. No, he doesn’t like to hang around because the old synth is damn perceptive, one of the rare people to be able to see past the shades, the walls, the barriers.

“You’re not usually hunting down information in person, I normally see one of your runners. This missing kid must be important, huh?” Deacon ignores the synth, choosing instead to be a nuisance and dig through his stack of case files.

“It can’t be about Kellogg, I heard that someone took him out, left the body unrecognizable.” Deacon hums in acknowledgment but doesn’t say anything. “This have anything to do with that vault dweller you’ve been running around with?”

He peers out from the corner of his eye, and Nick is looking right at him. Fuck, he’s caught.

“Never known you to take a partner, solo work is more your thing.”

“Situations change, had to train the new guy on the fly.”

Nick lets out a huff that lets Deacon know he thinks he’s full of shit, but doesn’t press the topic. A few more questions that Deacon expertly avoids, and no one can say otherwise, he’s got the information he needs. He makes a pit stop at Kellogg’s old house, but doesn’t find much but some old cigars and lukewarm beer. Overall, he doesn’t have much to go on that he didn’t already know.

Which means he doesn’t have anything good to tell Wanderer.

He’s already well aware that Wanderer is well aware that Shaun is likely a grown man. How old exactly, they’re not sure, but old enough that he’s been properly brainwashed, to think what, that’s not a question he can answer. So, Deacon wanted something good to tell Wanderer. His partner is devastated, barely holding it together, and he wants to help him, just a little, sue him.

The look of barely restrained disappointed he knows Wanderer is going to give him already hurts.

Which, shit, now he’s gone and thought about Wanderer, and he’s going to keep doing that, because his brain is traitorous and can’t let him be. Because even though he’s running down leads on Nate’s kid he’s been actively trying not to think about his partner. He’s… he’s getting too close. The distance he’s getting right now is good, keeping him busy enough that he doesn’t have much time to think about how far out of his way he’s going to bring some balance back into Wanderer’s life. So he doesn’t have to think about the look on his face when Kellogg told him his son was alive, the devastation, the hope, the realization, the anger.

God, that anger. It was like looking in a mirror. Deacon is convinced that the look Wanderer was wearing as he beat Kelloog’s face in with the butt of his own gun, was the same look he had when he took out the UP Deathclaws all those years ago. He’s never seen him look like that before. Even with everything the Commonwealth threw at him, Wanderer was nothing less than positive, encouraging, happy.

Even when Wanderer was burying his wife and placing a marker on her grave and the empty ground next to her, he didn’t break. Sure he cracked and crumbled, spent a few nights on the ground outside the vault door crying, but the more the Minutemen asked of him, the more distractions he had from his loss, the better Nate got. He built his walls back up upon an unsteady foundation until he could stand up on that hill and talk to Nora, and only shed a tear. And now that Deacon thinks about it, Wanderer hasn’t had the time to visit Nora’s grave since they started traveling together, what, five months ago? Maybe he should suggest a visit to Sanctuary soon, get Nate away from work and let him settle.

_ Maybe I could get him to kiss me again. _

And that’s where that train of thought needs to end. Maybe if it was just some passing fancy, or if he was just looking to get his rocks off, then he’d let his thoughts linger. He might even make the first move. But he’s not just looking for a quick fuck. The idea of being without his partner, of never seeing Nate again- fuck, those thoughts hurt him. They make him feel too small in his own skin. It’s been years since he feared being alone. It’s been years since he’s wanted to be around another person, enjoyed their company, their companionship. He can’t remember the last time he had a real friend.

Nate makes him feel like he doesn’t have to lie, like he could maybe stop running and try and remember who he is when he’s not being a spy or a deceiver.

He thinks that maybe he loves-

_ No _ , Deacon’s voice sounds like a growl even inside his own head,  _ you don’t love him. You can’t love him _ .

Because Wanderer doesn’t feel the same. There’s no way he could, someone like Nate would never want him in the same ways. Deacon’s too broken, too much of an asshole, too… not enough. How could he possibly think that he could be enough to fill up all the empty spaces inside his only friend? He’s not, so he needs to stop thinking about. Do what he’s good at, shove all semblance of human emotion into a box, and fake it. Do like he’s been doing, trying to forget.

Deacon’s spent the last two weeks trying not to think about their mission to Covenant in its entirety. He certainly doesn’t think about the casual touches, nor did he struggle to keep his hands to himself in the following days. He doesn’t miss the feeling of Nate’s back pressed up against him, soft and warm as they slept next to each other.

He doesn’t think about how gently Wanderer had treated him when he pulled him down from the ceiling of the Compound. Doesn’t focus on the surprise he saw in Wanderer’s eyes when he saw Deacon’s face without the protection of his shades.

Doesn’t replay their only kiss over and over again in his head.

Doesn’t jerk off to the memory of Wanderer’s arms pining him to the wall.

Doesn’t bite his knuckles to keep from whimpering his partner’s name as he comes all over himself.

Fuck, Diamond City is not the place for this train of thought. He needs to get back to HQ, drop off his intel and head for Sanctuary. He’s been inside the vault before, gone over every inch of the place, twice. But he’s going to look again, maybe this time he’ll find something he missed. Maybe he’ll grab Wanderer and bring him with.

_ Then again, _ he thinks as he hides his arousal with the waistband of his jeans,  _ maybe I should go alone. _

_ /// _

Wanderer is gone when he gets back, and Desdemona is not happy.

“Deacon, we need to know where he went,” she drops her voice low, “we’re all worried about him.”

She’s been hovering over Wanderer’s shoulder ever since they got back and she heard about what happened. He didn’t tell her about Wanderer’s black out rampage, but his partner’s eyes were still hollow when they returned, and as much as he gets away with lying to her, Desdemona is actually pretty observant. Still, Deacon’s not really surprised that Wanderer left. All of HQ has been treating him like a glass vase, fragile and easily broken. Not that that’s not true, but that’s only going to suffocate a person, make them feel worthless. Not to mention Wanderer was probably crawling out of his skin with boredom, and an inherent need to find his kid. Sitting here in the dark of the catacombs is suffocating even when you haven’t just had a gut wrenching revelation.

“He probably just went out to get some air. I mean c’mon,” he tilts his head towards Tom, “when was the last time this guy showered? It stinks down here.”

Desdemona sighs, telling him that he’s not the only one to notice. “He thinks the institute put cameras in our water supply.” She glances back at their resident conspiracy theorist, “he’s not drinking anything that’s not pre-bottled and he’s refusing to wash up.” There’s a little pause, and Deacon goes to make his escape, but he’s caught. Desdemona turns back to him whip fast and gives him her signature glare. “Find him Deacon. Your partner, your responsibility.”

He wants to argue, but he’s worried about Wanderer, too. The time apart might be good for him, but Nate shouldn’t be alone right now. He’s not himself, and Deacon’s not sure what he’s going to do, how far he might fall.

“Start with the Minutemen, he seems to find some sort of comfort in helping them.”

“Roger, doger, Boss.” He takes the escape tunnel, easier than running into more people who might ask him questions, or try to talk to him about Nate.

Sanctuary is quiet when he arrives, the settlement is settling, following in the sun’s footsteps by bedding down for the night. Which is perfect, the less Minutemen he has to interact, the better. They’re people with good intentions, but they’re too friendly, too fake, even for him. But, if he’s right, and he usually is, Preston will be starting his evening rounds around the perimeter soon. He just has to wait. There’s no sign of Wanderer in the little town, and worry tugs at his heart. He stamps it down and focuses on his task at hand.

Ten minutes later, Garvey nearly shoots him when he makes his presence known. The Minutemen Colonel is easily startled, but Deacon’s pretty good at not getting shot.

“Woah there, friend. No need to shoot.”

It’s dark enough now that Preston has to squint a bit to see him. “Deacon, is that you?”

“In the flesh, Garvey, how’ve you been?”

He shrugs, “as best we can. Things are going well here, but the General hasn’t been by in a while. People miss him.”

Deacon hears the hidden  _ I miss him _ and jealousy sparks through him. Shit, he can’t do that, plus as far as he knows Preston’s personal feelings are not returned. He holds onto that, and it lets him calm.

“Speaking of your fearless leader, you know where he’s at?”

“Actually, I do.” Relief has Deacon relaxing a bit, he didn’t realize how wound up over Nate’s disappearance until he didn’t have to worry anymore. “He headed out for the collegiate administration building earlier today. It’s having some raider problems.” Preston frowns, like something just occurred to him. “He hasn’t messaged me back to say he’s done, though, so maybe he’s still there.”

“Wanderer likes to fight at night, I wouldn’t worry.” It’s a hypocritical thing to say, considering he’s worrying himself, but Wanderer’s a good fighter. A couple raiders shouldn’t be a problem for him.

///

_ It was only supposed to be a couple raiders _ , Nate thinks as he twists on his heel, reeling back from one raider and using his momentum to slam the back end of his elbow into the other raider’s stomach. The man behind him lets out a pained wheeze and Nate hears him hit the floor, temporarily out of the fight. He then jerks sideways, avoiding another slash from the first raider’s blade then whips forward striking out with the tire iron he pulled off a dead body. He has no idea where his shotgun is, somewhere on the first floor maybe, and Deliverer is out of bullets.

His earlier injuries are flaring up and it’s limiting his movement. He’s limping, and doesn’t have the flexibility or reach he would normally possess.

The metal of his weapon connects with the side of the raider’s face, and the man goes down. Nate follows him to the floor and bashes his skull in with the tire iron. One down.

The raider behind him is back up on his feet, looking pissed, and Nate scrambles to do the same. The man attacks quickly, slashing back and forth, trying to get a blow to land. Nate’s quick enough to avoid the blade, but the tire iron doesn’t have the distance he needs to fight back properly. There’s shouting from the floor above him, yelling from the other raiders he already took out alerted the rest of the building to his presence. He doesn’t have much time before he’s swarmed.

He has to take the risk of getting stabbed, the raider currently trying to gut him is the only one left on this floor, if he can get away and hide, he can recover and maybe find a weapon that actually shoots.

As the raider slices down as Nate jumps forward, shoving into the man with his shoulder and sending them both to the floor. There’s a second where the knife comes dangerously close to his eye, but it misses, slicing his cheek and his ear instead. The cut burns, but he’ll live. Before the man can take another swipe at him, Nate knocks the knife away, sending it skidding across the floor. He places the tire iron across the man’s neck and uses his full weight to press down. The raider struggles as his oxygen is cut off, but Nate’s weight on top of him keeps him pinned down.

When the man stops struggling Nate pulls back, he’s not dead, only unconscious, but as long as he’s not trying to kill him, then that’ll have to be good enough. Footsteps start to pound on the stairs- he needs to hide. There’s a door to his left, and he takes off.

He opens the door quickly and rushes inside, slamming it behind him. In his haste he misses a trip wire, and the rigged pistol fires, burying a bullet in his leg, the same one as the gunshot wound from Kellogg, and Nate wonders what kind of cosmic karma he has that he’s that unlucky. Blood is already trickling down from the hole and he has to grind his teeth to stop from calling out. There’s no time for him to provide himself with medical aid, he’s still got raiders to kill.

Nate can hear them outside, looking for him, but they don’t seem to know exactly where he is. A glance around the room provides him with little help. There’s a med-kit with nothing but bandages and a syringe of psycho, another tire iron, and a whole bunch of boxes full of nothing but junk.

_ Eventually, they’re going to find me in here, and I can’t complete with half a dozen raiders with nothing but this fucking metal pipe.  _ Nate collapses onto a box and grabs the bandages, wrapping them around the wound on his shin.  _ At least Garvey knows where I went so they’ll find my body. People won’t have to waste their time looking for me _ .

_ I ran into this without thinking, fuck, I mean I didn’t even bring a damn stimpack, or enough fucking bullets for my gun _ . Nate takes another look around his surroundings,  _ there has to be something here I can use. _

He sees the psycho again, remembers something Deacon told him once.

  
  


_ The syringe in his hands has clearly been recycled from a stimpack, but the liquid inside is the wrong color. The label reads ‘Psycho’, but that doesn’t exactly tell Nate anything. There’s a lot of new drugs here in the Commonwealth, some aren’t too bad, Jet and Bufout, as long as they’re taken in moderation. Psycho, though, the name alone makes him feel like this isn’t one of those chems. _

_ But it does sound familiar. _

_ “Whatcha got there, another stim?” Deacon’s head pops into his vision as the spy looks over his shoulder. “Oh shit, Wanderer, that’s not a stim, you don’t want to take that.” _

_ Nate hands the chem to his partner. “What’s it do?” _

_ Deacon eyes the Psycho, like he’s not sure they should even keep it on them. Only a second ticks by before he shrugs and places it in their ‘items to sell’ bag. “Makes you crazy. Stronger, faster. Basically sends you into a mindless rage, you’ll take out anything and everything in your path.” He points to a dead drop sign that Nate missed, there’s a cache nearby. “I once saw someone take it. Dude screamed ‘fucking kill’ and then took on 8 Gunners with a pool stick. The Army made it, shouldn’t you know about it?” _

_ And that’s why he knows the name, they gave this stuff to the Soldiers on the front line, he was just lucky enough to never have to take it. Even his leadership didn’t know what it really did to a person. _

_ But Nate’s been with Deacon a few weeks, and he’s learning when the other man is lying pretty well at this point. He also knows that most of his lies are tinged with the truth. If he’s to be believed, this drug shouldn’t be used unless it’s an emergency. “Never had the opportunity to take it. Side effects?” _

_ “Other than the fact that you get sent into a mindless killing rage? Well, there’s a pretty nasty come down, and it thins your blood, so if you get hurt you could bleed out if you’re not careful. Plus, it’s highly addictive.” _

_ “So, emergency only?” _

_ Deacon frowns and shakes his head. “Not even then.” _

  
  


He’s going to have to risk it.

His bullet wound is mostly secure with the bandages, he’ll be fine. The tire iron looks small and pathetic when he thinks about the guns and blades he knows the raiders will have, but this is his only option.

The needle stings when he jabs it into his hip, but the pain fades as soon as he depresses the plunger. Energy bubbles up inside of him, lighting Nate up from the inside. His heart pounds, feeling like it’s beating too fast to stay in his chest, and he presses his hand against where it beats. A scream bubbles up from his lungs, and pours from his mouth. If the raiders didn’t know where he was, they certainly do now.

The door rips off its hinges as he opens it, and the look on the raider’s faces… well, they look terrified. The closest one’s scream as he throws her into the wall is the last conscious thought he has.

Deacon never told him to only take a quarter dose.

///

Preston approaches Deacon as the sun is rising, his eyes betray his concern, and Deacon feels sick. “General didn’t report in, huh?” Garvey shakes his head. “I’ll go check it out, but I wouldn’t worry.”

The Minuteman reaches out to place a hand on Deacon’s arm. “Bring him back. I don’t know what I’d- what we’d do without him.” If he was in a story book, Deacon’s sure his eyes would flash green, jealousy’s a bitch.

In a move that’s probably too rough, Deacon slide’s Preston’s hand off of him. “I’ll get your leader back, Garvey.” There’s a look of realization that crosses over Preston’s face, and Deacon knows he’s been caught, that the other man recognizes his feelings. Time to leave. “I’ll have him message you as soon as I find him.”

Deacon doesn’t wait for a response, he’s got to find Wanderer.

///

The administration building is eerily quiet. Deacon’s footsteps, which normally are silent enough for him to sneak up on anyone, echo across the floor. There’s a dead body by the door, his throat slit, and another one with a shotgun pattern across her chest. Someone took out the raiders holed up here, now he just needs to figure out if it was Wanderer or someone else.

The entryway leads into a room with two more dead raiders. He’s about to leave when he sees a familiar weapon. Across the room, partially hidden under a table, is Nate’s shotgun. He picks it up, looking for the initials that will tell him he’s right. There, on the underside of the buttstock, NWR. Nathan William Richards.

He was here, and the raiders are dead, which means he should be fine, right? But if he’s okay, then why didn’t he come back for his gun? And if he isn’t okay, then why didn’t the surviving raiders clean up the place?

The only other option is-

The shotgun gets strapped to the side of his bag, and Deacon takes off, following bloody footsteps up a set of stairs to the second floor. Which, shit, looks like a fucking deathclaw came through. There’s blood everywhere and he’s not sure which limbs go with which body. None of that matters to him, because none of these bodies are Wanderer. He scans the room with quick eyes, taking in as many details as he can in the low lighting. There’s nothing, just more gore and viscera, there’s no hint as to where his partner could be, and the blood doesn’t go to the next floor.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he sees Nate. Well, his boot, sticking out from behind a crate all the way to the other side of the open area. Deacon takes off running, avoiding the piles of liquid that cover the floor.

“Wanderer?” The foot doesn’t move, there’s no response, and when he turns the corner he sees why. “Oh fuck.”

There’s not an inch of Nate’s body that isn’t covered in blood, it streaks across his face and his clothes, he’s lying in a pool of it. There’s a knife sticking out of his one thigh, a slash across his face, and what looks to be a bullet wound in his leg.

Deacon thinks he might throw up. Time seems to stop as he stares, unmoving, holding his breath. Then, the slightest movement from his partner’s chest and Deacon knows he’s at least still breathing. Without another thought he drops to his knees, ignoring the squelching sound that his movements make. His fingers meet the side of Wanderer’s neck. His pulse is weak, and his wounds are still bleeding. Being as quick as he can he searching the rest of Nate’s body, cataloging injuries and wounds as he goes.

On Wanderer’s back there’s a particularly nasty cut and when his finger brushes over the edge of it Nate opens his eyes and cries out in pain. Deacon holds his shoulder back, so he doesn’t move too much and hurt himself further. “Wanderer, it’s me, calm down.” His partner keeps fighting against him, like he doesn’t even hear the words. “You’re going to hurt yourself, stop moving.” Wanderer elbows him in the face and his sunglasses go skidding across the floor. Before he can turn around Nate’s hands wrap around his neck and slam him to the ground.

Nate’s pupils are blown wide, and it’s clear that he’s not aware of what he’s doing. He’s unnaturally strong, and Deacon struggles against the fingers around his throat.

“What did you take?” The words wheeze out, fractured and broken as they squeeze past Wanderer’s grip. “Nate, please.”

Blood drips onto Deacon’s face from the cut across Wanderer’s cheek, the one that should be healed by now. His bleeding isn’t stopping. The blood, the strength, the massacre downstairs, the inability to control himself.

Nate took psycho. Fuck.

Darkness is beginning to creep into Deacon’s vision, but the only way to stop from dying is to hurt Wanderer. Hurt him badly enough that he can’t keep fighting, and then hope against hope that he can patch him up enough to stop him from dying. It’s a risk, one that could end with Deacon alone, responsible for killing the man he loves- because fuck now that he’s dying he can admit it, will allow himself that much. He loves Nate, and maybe it’s better that he dies, because he doesn’t think he can do it.

Except, if he does that, Wanderer will wake up and know that he killed Deacon. It’s not a memory loss drug, he’ll remember that he came to this place alone. He’ll recognize his own fingerprints on Deacon’s neck. Would he survive the guilt? Or would the knowledge that he killed his partner turn out to be too much for his already fragile foundation? If Deacon isn’t there to help support him, will he keep himself alive long enough to find his son, to make it to the Institute?

And what if if he doesn’t fight back and Nate dies anyways? Who knows how much Psycho he took, how long it’ll take him to come down. If Deacon doesn’t act they could both die here. And he can’t do that, he has to at least try, and if Nate dies… well then he’ll just go back to being alone. Or maybe, maybe he’ll leave the Commonwealth and never come back.

But he has to try, before he loses consciousness and his choice get taken.

Deacon lifts his leg and kicks out, catching the knife still buried in the vault dweller’s leg. With what strength he has left in him he presses it down, tearing muscle and flesh. Even with psycho rushing through his veins, Nate will feel this.

And he does, there’s a twitch, then a jerk, and finally Wanderer’s hands pull away from Deacon’s throat. That gives Deacon enough leeway to slide back, out from under Nate and away from his violence. He can barely suck in air fast enough, but quick as a lightning strike Deacon jumps to his feet, pulls the shotgun out from his pack, flips it, and bashes Nate across the side of his head. Wanderer goes down, and doesn’t move. Deacon checks to make sure he didn’t kill him, and when he feels the other man’s breathing on his hand, he drops back to the floor and pulls out his med-kit. He’s got a friend to save.

///

Nate wakes in an unfamiliar place, on a dirty mattress, with his hands tied to the bed’s frame. Panic wells up inside of him but he forces it down. Fear will only make escape harder. He goes to move but pain stops him. His leg, his arm, his back, his whole head, they all hurt. Pain radiates from every single one of his limbs, and the headache he has is so strong he feels like he might throw up. He swallows the bile that threatens to escape and closes his eyes, trying to keep himself calm. Deep breathing helps and he has no idea how long he forces the air in and out of his lungs before he feels somewhat normal.

It’s then that he hear footsteps outside the door. He’s prepared for anything, whoever comes through that door is gonna wish they had never done this.

Confusion passes over him when the door opens to reveal his partner.

“Wanderer, you’re awake.” There’s relief in Deacon’s voice, and it’s the closest Nate’s ever gotten to knowing how the man really feels. “You’ve been out for a few hours now.”

“What happened?” His voice is raw, like he’s been screaming. “Why am I tied up?”

Realization passes over Deacon’s features, and it’s then that Nate sees that his sunglasses are gone. He’s got a black eye. Blue eyes dart around until they land on a knife resting on the dresser. “Sorry about that,” Deacon slices the ropes holding him down and helps him sit up, pulls out a stimpack and injects it into his leg. The relief from the pain is instant.. “You took Psycho, and didn’t recognize me.”

It’s then that Nate sees the bruises across Deacon’s neck. He reaches up and drags his fingers across the marks, then he traces around the bruises on his face. “Did I do this to you?” Deacon shivers and gently moves Nate’s hand away.

“Yeah, but it’s fine, I did this to you.” He points at the large gash on Nate’s thigh.

Shame crashes down on him. The Psycho was supposed to save him, not hurt anyone. Even though Deacon pushed him away, he reaches up again to trace the injury. “I never meant to hurt you.” The fact that he could have killed Deacon makes him feel sick, ashamed, makes him feel lower than dirt. “I’m sorry.” The apology tumbles out on a whisper.

This time Deacon doesn’t move, and it’s quiet for a moment. There’s no fear of his feelings as Nate touches Deacon’s skin, and for once, his partner doesn’t pull away.

Deacon closes his eyes as Nate once more gently caresses the bruises on his face. Nate startles when he speaks. “I thought you were dead, Wanderer. I thought I was too late.” He wonders if maybe the spy closed his eyes because it was the only way he could get out the truth. “Then you attacked me and I realized I might have to kill you to get away.” Deacon opens his eyes and looks right into Nate’s own, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was going to let you kill me, so I wouldn’t have to live without you.”

The confession slams into Nate, leaving him breathless. What does Deacon mean by that? Does he not want to be alone because they’re friends and partners? Or is it something more? Does the thought of being without Nate hurt Deacon just as much as the reverse hurts him? His feather light touches across the injuries that he caused feel like more than concern, and Nate means them to be. They’re both killers, people who have done things to survive, to protect people that they love. Nate wonders when the last time Deacon was touched so softly, gently, lovingly. Was it Barabara? If so it’s been too long.

It would explain why his partner has started to shake. Nate wonders when the last time Deacon was shown such kind tenderness. If he didn’t want this, wouldn’t he pull away? Wouldn’t he make up some excuse or claim that he doesn’t like to be touched, like he usually does? The moment feels like a tipping point, stretched out into infinity, and what Nate does next will be what shocks them back into reality.

He could pull away, throw up a wall and take a step back. Let Deacon know that what they’re doing is too much, too far. It’s what he should do. Nate should be focusing on Shaun, on the Institute, on fighting his way back to his family. But he doesn’t want to. Nate is tired of fighting, of running, of failing every step of the way. Isn’t he allowed to do one thing that will make him happy?

And what does Deacon want? Is he misreading the situation? Is he shaking from fear, anticipation, the unknown? Nate isn’t sure. He has no idea what his partner wants, or what he can handle. All he knows is that sometimes, sometimes he thinks he sees longing, wanting, and sometimes he thinks it’s all in his head. Right now, though? Right now Deacon might be vibrating with some unknown emotion, caught between running and collapsing into Nate’s arms, but Nate knows what he wants. He wants to be selfish, to take instead of give, to run the risk that he might lose the best thing that’s happened to him in this god forsaken wasteland.

So, he uses his hand to tilt Deacon’s face towards him, staring right into his partner’s eyes. He sees confusion, panic, but he also sees hope, maybe?

“I’m glad you fought me,” the illusion starts to dissipate as he speaks, but Nate’s voice is soft, and it doesn’t shatter. “Because I don’t want to live without you either.”

Just before Nate closes his eyes, he thinks he sees love hidden between all the layers of emotions that are spilling from Deacon’s gaze. It gives him the courage to gently, slowly - giving him time to pull away- press his lips to Deacon’s own. There’s a second where neither of them push for more, both trapped in a bubble of want and need and uncertainty. And then, just as Nate’s courage fades, just as he’s about to pull away, to apologize for misreading the situation, Deacon’s hand comes up to cradle the back of his head. The spy then tilts his head, slotting their lips together more firmly, deepening their tentative embrace.

There’s nothing between them now, and for just a moment there’s no fear, no missions, no responsibilities. Nothing but the two of them, taking what they want, the rest of the world be damned.

And Nate’s heart soars. As far as he can tell Deacon doesn’t have any other reason to be kissing him, except that he wants to. They’re not undercover on a mission, there’s no one around that they need to convince, or trick. It’s just the two of them, alone, and themselves, no part to play. Right now they’re not Railroad agents, he’s not the General, or the Sole Survivor. He’s just Nate. And Deacon… Deacon is just Deacon.

_ Finally _ , Nate thinks as he pulls back to mouth at the corner of Deacon’s jaw, dragging his teeth lightly across the skin there, forcing Deacon to inhale sharply,  _ it’s about fucking time. _

Then a bullet shatters the window to the bedroom, and the illusion is broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, as always please leave a kudo or comment if you enjoyed. And, again, I'm always up for suggestions for what you guys want to see <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Institute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry this took so long, hopefully chapter 4 won’t take me a month.

Deacon awakes, tied to a chair and feeling a lot like he got hit in the head. His eyes peek open and he sees white. White walls, floor, furniture. He’s never seen anything so clean in his entire life. The last thing he remembers is kissing Nate. Then there was gunfire, coursers, synths, and then nothing. They must have knocked him out.

“Welcome back to the world of consciousness.” His eyes adjust to see a man in a pristine lab coat. His hair is greying at the edges, but there’s a dangerous glint in his eyes.

Something tells him that this has to be Shaun, some internal feelings that he’s learned to trust, to understand, and it looks like 40 or more years has past, not the 30 or less Nate was hoping for. Which means he’s at the Institute, and Shaun isn’t exactly a prisoner. If he had to guess, it looks like he’s in charge.

“If you haven’t guessed by now, my name is Shaun, Nathan’s son, and I am the Director of The Institute.” No one calls Wanderer by his full name, it sounds weird to his ears.

“Agent Deacon, that’s what they call you, yes?” Deacon keeps his mouth shut, refuses to tell them anything. If he’s there, that means they have Nate, too, and he doesn’t want to tell them anything that might contradict what Nate might tell them. Not that he thinks his partner would say anything, but, who knows what these people might do to get information from them. “You can stay silent if you’d like, but if you could divert your attention over here.”

Shaun clicks what looks to be a projector and a square screen of light appears on the wall off to his side, barely visible on the bright white paint. “Tell me if you recognise this photo.”

A click of a rectangular device and a photo appears on the wall, blown up and magnified in size. It’s a photo of him fighting a group of syths. An escapee behind him, cowering in fear. Somewhere out of sight, he knows that Wanderer is laying down cover fire. He doesn’t tell Shaun any of this. “How about this one?”

The next one is of him and Wanderer. They’re entering Augusta Safehouse. Nate’s got a cut on his arm and Deacon is applying pressure with his hands. He doesn’t say anything about this photo, either.

“Listen, I’d like to think I’m a reasonable man. To be honest, we really only wanted my father. You just happened to be there when my coursers arrived.” Shaun taps the clicker against the palm of his hand and meets Deacon’s stare. There’s something in them that sends a shiver over his body. There’s no humanity in them, no emotion that isn’t evil or vile.

“So why not kill me?” Deacon doesn’t like to keep quiet, he’s better with his words, he just needs to start a dialog.

Shaun smiles, baring more teeth than necessary. “The only reason you’re not dead, is because you seem to be very important to my father,” he clicks the button again and a collage of photos appear on the wall. They’re all of him and Wanderer: one of them leaning on each other for support as they leave the Compound, another of them lying in their bed in Covenant, and the last of them kissing, Nate pressing him up against the wall in the back alley behind the Mayor’s house.

Deacon feels dirty, and split wide open, his personal relationship displayed for all the people in the room to see. There hasn’t been a single person in years that’s known him like this, and now these strangers, the Director and the other Institute personnel scattered around the room, are seeing him at his most vulnerable. It makes him itchy.

This is why he doesn’t get attached. It’s the exact situation he laid out at Wanderer’s feet when he tried to convince him that he was a synth. Why he told Nate that he was lucky not to have his family, no matter how much it hurt. If you didn’t have friends, didn’t have family, the Institute couldn’t take them from you. Couldn’t use you against them. He told him that, and even though Nate smiled at him Deacon would see it in his eyes that he understood.

Yet, even though he considered that lesson one of his top five, he ignored his own words, failed to practice what he preached, and what did it get him? Tied to a chair, waiting for them to torture one or both of them for information. Shaun is going to use them against each other. One way or another, he’s going to use their closeness, their companionship, their… relationship, to hurt each other. He can feel it in his bones.

Shaun’s eyes look devious when he manages to tear his gaze away. “Which means you’ll be a good bargaining chip,” he glances over at a courser. “Bring him in.”

Damn, he hates being so good at his job.

Deacon needs to cover his tracks, if they’re going to torture him that’s fine, but he doesn’t want Nate to see that. Doesn’t want him to feel guilty or at fault. “You realize we were undercover for all of that, right?”

Shaun startles, like he’s not used to being talked to so casually. For all Deacon knows, he’s not. 30 plus years is a long time to be so respected, people like that tend to forget that they’re just that- people. 

“We pretended to be a couple so we could take out a synth-hating group,” he hates telling the truth, especially to their enemy, but if it’ll keep them from using him to hurt Nate, he has to try. “Other than that, Nate was just helping me walk. Unlike you, he’s a kind man.”

Rage flashes behind dark green eyes, so different from the light brown eyes he’s used to seeing- did he get Nora’s eyes? Then, Shaun smirks, and presses another button. This time the photos are more recent: Deacon carrying Nate out of the raider den, concern and fear splattered across his sunglasses-less face, Nate reaching out to touch his neck where the evidence of their fight lingered, and finally the kiss that the Institute’s own soldiers interrupted. “Explain these, then.”

The first two are easy, concern for his partner, and the same concern returned in kind. The last photo though, there’s nothing he can think of, so he deflects.

“Where did you get these anyways?” They’re all taken from far away, like a sniper had snapped them, but even the Institute doesn’t seem like they’d waste technology on cameras, not when they could use them to make more synths.

The Institute leaders sighs, like he was hoping to hear a lie or excuse. “Fine, I’ll humor you.” He sits in the chair right across from Deacon, leans back and cross his ankles. “Your friend Tinker Tom is correct, the crows you see around the Commonwealth are actually my spies.” The use of an Agent’s codename has Deacon freezing in fear. That coupled with that knowledge that any crow up on the surface is actually watching the whole Commonwealth’s every move, makes him feel sick. “They’re part of a project that we started nearly 30 years ago. Eye-In-The-Sky, as some of our younger scientists call it.”

Shaun leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “There’s really nothing we don’t know about you, Aiden.”

Fuck, there shouldn’t be a soul alive today that knows him by that name. But they’ve been monitoring the Commonwealth since he was 12, should he really be surprised that they know who he used to be?

“You’ve been on our radar for a very long time, actually,” Shaun speaks with the tone of a man who thinks he’s already won. “Would you like to see more, or should we wait for Agent Wanderer?”

A million ideas of what they might have flash through his mind, most of them he doesn’t want Nate to see. That was who he was in the past, a terrible horrible man who did terrible horrible things. He was a part of a synth hating gang, so there’s no doubt in his mind that the Institute would follow their activities closely.

Bile rises in his mouth and he swallows, he might have told Wanderer everything about the Deathclaws, about Barbara, but it’s another thing to see it in person. Will what they show him make Nate hate him? Will it be enough to sway his partner to their side?

He doesn’t get a chance to answer, because the door behind him opens and Shaun stands, eagerness written on his face. “Ah, father, how nice of you to join us.” Deacon keeps his eyes trained on the floor, even as Wanderer is led to the chair in front of him and forced to sit down. His heart pounds in his chest, he’s not ready. He’s not ready to lose him, Deacon only just got what he wanted, and he’s going to lose it all. He knows it.

“I was just having an interesting conversation with your… friend Aiden here,” the pause is intentional, meant to force Nate into a position to admit their relationship. Deacon glances up just quick enough to see the fight in Wanderer’s eyes. He’s not going to tell them anything, yet. There’s also confusion, and a gag in his mouth. “Right, you only know him as Agent Deacon, how careless of me to forget.”

It’s then that Deacon sees that the most recent photo set is still displayed on the wall. The situation just gets worse. Shaun removes the cloth from Nate’s mouth, pulling it down to rest loosely around his neck. “Tell me, do you think your fellow Agent here is a good man?”

Nate doesn’t move, nor does he speak. “Would you be surprised to know that he’s a killer, who murdered a man in cold blood?” Shaun kneels down in front of Nate, blocking Deacon’s view. “A man who wasn’t even a synth?”

Deacon eyes close and his jaw clenches tight. He feels dizzy as Shaun confirms one of his biggest fears. That the synth he had strung up on that rope hadn’t actually been a synth, that he had killed an innocent man. He misses the next bit of the conversation, everything sounds muffled, like he’s hearing it through a wall. His focus is shot, all he can hear is the man’s voice, begging them to stop. Begging  _ him _ to stop. All he can see are the man’s eyes as they bulge out of his head, then the vacant stare once the life had drained out of them for good.

A hand on his chin forces him back into reality.

“Pay attention, this is important.” Shaun sounds bitter, Nate must not have reacted how he wanted. The grip on his face is released and Shaun steps back, pointing to the wall. “You may have known what he did. But seeing is something different.”

The next photo Shaun displays kicks Deacon in the gut.

The photo was taken at night, just as the sun’s last rays dipped below the horizon. There’s a large fire illuminating five figures, four displaying red bandanas with the letters UPD etched into them around their arms, dressed in the same clothing. As close to a uniform as they can be. The four men in similar clothes are surrounding a man. A man with his hands tied behind his back and a rope around his neck. The light of the flames shows two faces. The victim of what is clearly a terrible assault, and the man currently in the act of holding the rope, and kicking the box out from under him.

There’s fear and desperation in the victim’s face, the rope not quite tight yet as gravity catches up to the falling block he was standing on. The man holding the rope has hatred in his eyes. Hatred and anger and murderous intent.

Deacon knows those eyes, he saw them in the mirror for years. He can still feel the rough texture of the rope in his hands, can still remember the shift in his mind. When his thoughts turned from murder to disgust. Seeing a man hanged isn’t like what he’s read in books. Their necks don’t break right away, not usually. No, instead they choke, face turning blue and purple as their airway is collapsed. They shake and shudder and wheeze, a gut turning sound. Deacon remembers wanting to let go of the rope when the man didn’t die right away.

The man, fuck, he never knew his name. But the other members of the gang had helped him, thinking that maybe he just wasn’t strong enough to hold him up alone. Together they had hoisted him higher, until the struggling stopped, until he was dead, until his lids stopped blinking, held open by the way his eyes bulged out of his skull.

Everything inside of him wants to look away, but the only other option is to look at Nate, and fuck that. He’s not ready for the disappointment, the hatred.

Another click and it’s still him, just four years later. His hair is grown out, swept to the side like the photos of the greasers he’s seen in old movie posters. The red of his hair is striking in the low light, another photo taken as the sun sets, but the color there is nothing compared to the scarlet that covers his hands, face, neck, and torso. He’s kneeling in a pool of blood, bodies of his former gang surrounding him. The look in his eyes is wild. It’s the look of a man that’s lost everything, who knows what he used to have in this world, and doesn’t know how to recover. It’s the same look Nate wore his first few days out of the vault, before he built himself back up.

“This is the man you’ve chosen to associate with.” Shaun once more sounds smug. “Is this really the kind of person you want to be around?”

Shame has filled Deacon up from the inside, he hated himself for a long time after the Claws, after Barbara. Maybe he still does. But all of that faded away when Nate told him he was forgiven, when Nate told him that he wasn’t going anywhere, and that he still wanted Deacon by his side. Is that forgiveness still there? Will it still be reflected in his eyes? Probably not. 

Eventually he’ll have to look at Nate, have to see the disgust, but for now he stares at himself, 19 years younger and lost to grief and rage.

“He’s no different than I am.” Nate’s voice is solid, like he has no doubts or reservations about what he’s saying, and it startles Deacon. When he turns from the photos Nate is looking right at him. “I look into the eyes there and I see myself. I see the rage and the grief, and I identify with that.” Nate turns to Shaun. “Nothing you say, nothing you show me, will make me think any less of him.”

Shaun’s face morphs and Deacon can feel the frustration pouring off of him, Nate doesn’t stop. “I know what this is. It’s your attempt to show me that the people above ground are irredeemable murderers. You’re trying to convince me to go against them, and join you.” Nate shakes his head. “I won’t do it. I’ve made friends up there, I won’t abandon them for a hot shower and a nice bed.”

“Fine,” Shaun clicks the projetor again and the image disappears. “I tried to be a nice guy, give you a chance to make this decision on your own, but I can see that I'll have to take more extreme measures.” A snap of Shaun’s fingers and Deacon feels something cold and metallic clamp around his neck, placed on him from someone behind him. Slave collar.

Nate’s eyes widen just a fraction, panic and fear written in them. Shaun once more steps between them. “I want to be a family again, father. That’s why I released you from the vault, to see if you wanted to find me just as much as I wanted to be found. But we can’t be a family again if you’re shacked up with some filthy wastelander.” The Director leans forward, whispers something in Nate’s ear. He speaks for a while, and whatever he says has genuine grief and pain reflecting over Nate’s face.

“No.” Wanderer whispers as Shaun pulls away. His attention is no longer focused on Deacon, or the shock collar wrapped around his neck. For the first time since Nate was forced into the chair, he pulls at his bonds. “You’ll regret that.”

“Then comply, father.” Nate shakes his head. Shaun smiles, evil and cunning. “Fine, his suffering is on your hands.”

Deacon recognizes the sound of electricity and then all he can feel is burning agony as the collar around his neck turns on.

He thinks maybe he hears Nate shout, and then all he can register is pain.

///

Nate rolls over, trying to find a more comfortable position on the bed. One would think it would be easy, the mattress and sheets are soft and warm, nearly pre-war. But his thoughts keep him from settling, images of Deacon and the torture they put him through roll through his mind, turning his stomach and making him feel ill.

The look on Shaun’s face was horrible, there’s no trace of the little boy who wanted nothing more than to make a small frog happy, by agreeing to let it stay with his family. There’s not even a hint of who he used to be, a child scared of fireworks, who would cry when he was dropped off for school or daycare. That little boy is gone, replaced with a monster who can’t seem to identify right from wrong. A monster who would torture people, breed killers and send them into the world, who would offer to replace-

Nate sits up quickly and presses a hand over his mouth, trying not to throw up as Shaun’s threat repeats in his head.

_ I could bring Nora back, you know? Would you like to see her again? It’s hard without a brain to download, but you could have your wife back. I could have my mother. We could be a family. _

Shaun obsession with being a family again seems to be the root of his misguided ideas. Nora and him had drilled that into his head, that family was important and needed to stick together. He didn’t realize that their lessons would twist into something sinister, into something grotesque and destructive. 

But offering to replace Nora? The idea of anyone tainting the memories he has of her makes him both angry, and scared. Some poor synth would be re-written, stripped of their identity so a hollow shell of Nora could be made, forever knowing that she’s not real, just playing the part of who they want her to be. It’s disgusting. The fear he feels comes from knowing that they would do it, with no hesitation.

And then what? He becomes responsible for some synth who thinks she’s his wife, that will have no idea or recollection that their marriage was a ruse, used to protect them both from the bigotry and sexism of the pre-war world? No. He couldn’t live like that, couldn’t do that to some poor woman.

But he had agreed to give the Institute a chance, if only to stop them from hurting Deacon anymore.  _ Aiden _ , he thinks for a second,  _ his real name is Aiden _ . Deacon, Aiden, friend, partner, whatever he wants to be called, Nate couldn’t sit there and watch them electrocute him over and over, until the burns from the collar covered the marks his own hands left when he almost killed him. Until he didn’t even have the strength to scream anymore.

Deacon had begged him not to agree, to let them do whatever they wanted to him. Had told him that he forgives Nate for anything that will happen to him when he refuses. But he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t let Shaun, or anyone else, hurt anyone he cares about, not if there’s something he could do to fix it. There was fear in Deacon’s eyes, but there was also disappointment, he wasn’t happy that Nate had agreed to help as long as Shaun guaranteed that he wouldn’t be hurt anymore.

It’s just something he’ll have to live with. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission, his father told him once. It’s not an idea he likes to live his life by, but right now it’s all he’s got.

The camera in the corner of the room rotates as he stands and makes his way towards the bathroom attached to his room. His prison cell. There’s no clock on the wall so he has no idea what time it is, but dinner has already been brought to him. The tray sits untouched on the table by the door. They took his pip-boy so he can’t even use that to tell the time.

Nate turns on the tap and splashes cold water on his face, an attempt to wash away the pain and anger he feels. It doesn’t help, not really, but it does seem to calm him a little and the turmoil rolling inside of his stomach settles as he takes deep breaths over the basin.

When he looks up into the mirror he sees a broken man, unsteady and unsure. Lost and confused. Desperate and trapped. His reflection sickens him and he turns away. Nate stalks over to the bed and collapses, burying his face in the pillow and clenching the sheets in tight fists.

How much of his sanity, his soul, is he going to have to sacrifice to get out of this? What morals and ethics will he have to tuck away to survive? It reminds him of something his Senior NCO told him once, when he finally made it to Anchorage.

  
  


_ The rifle in Nate’s hands feels heavy, but nothing weighs on him more than the information that has just been briefed to him. _

_ We’re at war, they had said, women, children, hospitals, schools, nothing and no one is off limits. If you see anyone who could possibly be the enemy, who could potentially be related to the enemy, you shoot. _

_ Nate can’t do that, this can’t be legal. _

_ He watches First Sergeant McClellan leave the briefing tent, looking disturbed, and Nate follows him. It’s against standard procedure to jump the Chain of Command like he’s doing, but he has to ask, has to know that he’s not the only one here who’s not a mindless murderer. _

_ “First Sergeant?” _

_ His NCO slows, turns to see him standing there. “What is is Private?” _

_ Suddenly his courage fades, but it’s too late for him to leave. “I wanted to speak to you, about what we were just briefed on.” There’s no response from his superior, so he continues, voice low. “I don’t… I don’t think I can do it.” _

_ Sympathy flashes behind the man’s eyes and he sighs, tilting his head and waving Nate to follow him. They’re both silent as he’s led past the sleeping tents, past the chow hall, down and around to their temporary motorpool. McClellan pulls out a cigarette and hands it to him, out of respect he takes it, accepts the light when it’s offered to him, chokes a little on the smoke as he drags it into his lungs. First Sergeant chuckles a little, but then his face falls somber. _

_ “Richards, I’m going to be honest with you,” he flicks the ashes of his cigarette to the ground and it sizzles out in the snow. “There’s a lot of people here that are happy with these orders, they truly believe that murderer is the right answer.” Nate is silent, absorbing the information. “But most of us? Most of us aren’t here by choice, we don’t want to hurt people, let alone kill them. The draft pulled a lot of people who would rather be anywhere else.” _

_ Nate wonders if he’s speaking to one of them. _

_ The heat from the cigarette warms his fingers, but he feels cold inside. “So what am I supposed to do?” He sounds pathetic, wonders if his leader will think less of him. _

_ There’s a long pause as his First Sergeant struggles with his words, he finally answers the question with his own. “How old are you?” _

_ “18.” There’s obvious pain in McClellan’s face at his answer. _

_ “You aren’t here by choice, Private. I can tell. But let me give you some advice: if you don’t fight when higher sends us out, you’ll die. Or you’ll get your battle buddies killed.” Nate watches as he takes another drag, the smoke covering his face as it rises. His First Sergeant looks empty and hollow as he speaks his next words, “first we survive, then we find our humanity back.” _

_ Nate leaves that conversation feeling worse than when he went into it. _

_ Two weeks later he’s sent out as support for his Company. He hesitates when faced with the enemy. The person in front of him can’t be much older than 15, still a child. A child with a gun pointed right at him, and Nate can’t do it. Specialist Gunner takes the bullet for him as he pushes him out of the way, and the medics are too far away to help. When the fighting is over, four are dead and seven are injured. Nate returns to the FOB that night with Gunner’s blood on his hands, and the knowledge that someone died for him, because he couldn’t pull the trigger. He’s pulled from his platoon, told that he’s not expected to go outside the wire again. _

_ First Sergeant McClellan tells him that he put in the request for his transfer right after their conversation, but it was denied. He doesn’t apologize, but Nate understands that he tried. It doesn’t help his guilt. _

  
  


Nate remembers attending Gunner’s funeral when they got back. He was too much of a coward to talk to the man’s wife and two kids, to tell her that it was his fault. To beg for her forgiveness. That guilt stayed with him for a long time, and it wasn’t until Nora convinced him to see a specialist that he got the help he needed.

Who will help him after this if Deacon can’t, or refuses to, forgive him?

///

Z1-14 balances the tray of food and water in his hands. He pauses at the last turn to his destination to peer around the corner. When he sees no other synths, coursers, or Institute personnel he moves quickly, down the hall until he comes to a stop in front of what he knows to be one of the Railroad agent’s rooms. He knocks lightly, merely a courtesy for the cameras, before using his access card to open the door. He uses his hip to close the door behind him and scans for the room’s inhabitant.

Sitting on the bed, one hand secured with a long chain and cuff, is the man he’s looking for. Denim blue eyes stare at him as he makes his way across the room. “I have been instructed to deliver this to you.” The man makes no move to take the tray so Z1 sets it down gently on the bed beside him. “I have been told that it is imperative that you eat.”

The man grins wryly. “Director doesn’t want to lose his bargaining chip, huh?”

“I can make no assumptions on what the Director wants. However, it is not him who wishes to ensure you get this delivery.” There’s recognition in the prisoner’s eyes, he’s as observant as the rumors say. “I have no knowledge of this myself, but I have been told that the sweet roll is quite delicious, and sometimes they have filling in them.”

The Railroad Agent’s eyes flash to the pastry before he looks away. “They’re my favorite, actually.”

Z1 nods his head and steps back from the bed. “I shall return soon to collect your used dishes. Is there anything you need when I come back?”

“Actually, yeah. Do you guys have any decks of cards? I’m fucking bored.”

“I will see what I can do.”

With that Z1 once more swipes his card to open the door. There’s no doubt in his mind that the agent will find the hidden note in his food, and that he will be ready when the time comes. All he has to do now is find a deck of cards, as he’s pretty damn sure he didn’t actually want it for entertainment.

With one tasking done Z1 makes a quick turn towards the SRB’s back hallway. He has an Institute scientist to meet with.

///

Desdemona is going over patrol routes with Doctor Carrington when Tinker Tom begins shouting for her from across the room. He’s never sounded quite so distressed before and her feet carry her over to him before her brain registers his words.

“It’s Patriot, he’s contacted us! He’s using the code, Dez, the code!”

The Railroad leader pushes Tom’s flailing arms out of the way in order to peer at the terminal screen in front of him. There, written in green lettering, is the secret code that only a select few agents know, and by select few she means herself, Tinker Tom, Carrington, and Deacon. She has no idea how he managed, but somehow Deacon made it to the Institute, and somehow he’s working with Patriot to develop a plan. She’ll know more once Tinker forwards the entire message to her, but right now she’s feeling a mixture of relief and confusion.

Relief because both him and Wanderer have been missing for days, with no communication. She even reached out to Colonal Garvey, who told her that Deacon had taken off to find their General, and never returned. So to see that at least one of her agents is alive, and as safe as he can be, brings her a small sliver of peace.

Confusion because as far as she’s aware there should be no possible way for Deacon to have made it to the Institute, let alone allowed to roam freely enough to find Patriot and get him to send out a coded message.

“Tom, forward this to my terminal, and then wait for further instructions,” she turns to address the agents who have crowded around her. “Everyone else, get ready. I’m not sure when but we’re going to the Institute soon. The missions you’re running now are the most important ones of your lives.”

After sending some runners out to the closest safehouses requesting that they also prepare and meet them at HQ, Desdemona sits down to read. By the time she’s done she’s filled with a flurry of emotions.

Wanderer and Deacon have been taken, but they’re not in danger as long as Wanderer keeps the Director happy. There’s a whole group of rebel synths working under Patriot, who himself is actually an Institute scientist. There’s one synth, Z1-14, who is the actual spearhead of the entire operation, and is ready to cut Patriot out of the planning if necessary. It’s clear that Deacon must have lied about the contents of this correspondence, since she’s convinced Patriot wouldn’t been writing about kicking himself out of the loop. They’ve got a plan, to get weapons and to get Wanderer out of the Director’s clutches. They’ve given her a date and a time.

She types out a simple response, an acknowledgment of their plans and a promise that they’ll be ready when the time to fight back comes.

For the first time in Railroad history, they’ve got a real chance to save synths for good, and take out the boogeyman of the Commonwealth. For just a second she lets herself hope. She wonders if her old family farm is still standing and lets herself believe that she’s close to being able to go home. Then, she slips back on her mask of leadership pulls up another message.

She’s sure the Minutemen will help them, especially if it means saving their General.

///

Nate eyes flicker back and forth between his son and the plate of food in front of him. Nothing is appetizing, not the food substitutes, not the freshly baked bread, not the synthetic meats and cheeses that look so close to pre-war he could almost pretend it was. Except that he’s miles underground, surrounded by the enemy, sitting across from his full grown son. His son, who is still trying to convince him to let the Institute bring Nora back.

“I understand your reservations, father, but with our technology and your recollection, we could bring her back almost as she was.” Shaun’s words make him feel wrong, and he sets down his fork. Not like he was using it to eat anyways.

“She wouldn’t be the same, Shaun,” he meets his son’s eyes, “I know you want to be a family again, but that wouldn’t be your mother. It wouldn’t be Nora.”

This isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation, and everytime they do it’s like a roll of the dice. Sometimes Shaun accepts that answer, telling Nate that he understands and that maybe it wouldn’t be perfect. Other times Shaun becomes irritable, argumentative. Not quite combative, but worked up enough that Nate worries what he may do. It’s those times when Nate attempts to placate him. He’ll ask for more time to think, or question the process under the guise of helping her be who she used to be.

Today, Shaun throws a curve ball by becoming hostile. Before the sentence is even fully out of Nate’s mouth, his son is throwing a glass pitcher against the wall. It shatters, sending glasses and water flying in all directions. Nate jumps from the sudden aggression and is out of his seat in a second. They took his weapons, but he’ll fight with just his fists if he has to.

“I just don’t understand,” Shaun is shouting now, and the synth to his left and the scientist to his right both look nervous, although the synth is doing a much better job hiding his emotions. “Don’t you miss her? I know I do!” His full focus is on Nate and he moves closer. “Is it because of that Railroad agent? I could take care of him.”

Nate shakes his head, hands raised trying to calm Shaun down. “It’s not about Deacon. I’ve already told you that.”

“Than what?” Shaun waves his arms erratically, clearing becoming more erratic. “Did you not love her? Are you glad she’s dead? Or is it because I was adopted, that we were never really a family?”

The words sting, he always imagined that one day Shaun would ask those questions, but he imagined that he’d be younger, a growing boy trying to come into his own identity. The difference between what he had mentally prepared for and the actual situation in front of him has his blood boiling.

“Enough!” The whole rooms falls still as Nate raises his voice to a shout. “I loved your mother. Nora was my best friend and if I could have taken her place in the vault I would have. I had to bury my wife, and I didn’t have a body to bury for my son. But I mourned them, and I made myself whole with the knowledge that I had to keep living, if not for me then for their memory.”

There’s no response for a second and then Shaun says, “I’m your son, and I’m not dead.” It’s said quietly, like Nate’s words hurt instead of deescalating the situation. For some reason it’s the final straw, the last bit of cognitive dissonance that Nate can handle.

“Except you’re not. When I look at you I don’t see my son.” Nate’s voice is low, but firm. He means each sentence to be an arrow loosed from a quiver, means for them to land in Shaun’s heart. “I don’t see the little boy that I was so proud of, who clung to his mother’s leg when monsters came to take him away. Instead I see a man who’s a reflection of the monsters that took him.”

Shaun is visibly angry, the hurt already fading away as Nate’s words register. “You being adopted has nothing to do with me not wanting you to bring Nora back, nothing to do with me not wanting to be a family. Because as far as I’m concerned: my son died in that vault. He’s buried next to his mother, if only in my memories. You’re not him. You’re merely an enemy, another person standing in my way.”

No more words are spoken as Shaun launches himself at Nate, but the latter has much more combat experience and easily side-steps, using the momentum to throw Shaun to the floor. There’s shouting from the scientist and synth, and strong arms yank him back away from the Director. Something sharp pricks his arm and he looks to see a needle sticking out from his upper arm. Right away he feels calmer, sleepy, and he knows they’ve drugged him with med-x. Nate watches them slip the same concoction into Shaun’s arm.

The courser who pulled him back, and who Nate didn’t even know was in the room, begins to lead him away. “You will be out for a few hours, when you wake up you will likely be given another opportunity to speak to the Director.” As they exit into the hallway the man leans down, whispers into his ear. “Except by then, the real fighting will have begun.”

Nate doesn’t understand, his mind is swimming, fighting against the heaviness of his own limbs. “Wha’d’ya mean?”

He catches a glimpse of the courser’s smirk in the reflection of the glass windows they pass. “Tell me, Agent Wanderer, do you have a geiger counter?”

Nate is asleep before he can even register the question.

///

Preston Garvey stands in the center of the Railroad HQ, taking everything in. It’s dark, damp, and smells vaguely of decay and stale water. Nothing at all like the open air of the Castle. He watches as Minutemen and Railroad alike rest, talk, confide, and some of them pray. Their faith intrigues him.

He wishes he believed in something bigger than himself, an almighty force out there big enough to put all his worries at ease. The closest he gets is the vault dweller, his General.

There’s something about Nate that makes Garvey feel safe. It might have begun when he watched him strap on the power armor and go toe to toe with raiders and a deathclaw to keep people he didn’t know safe. But it only grew from there as he helped settlements grow and thrive. The General never asked for anything in return, didn’t call in favors or demand to be worshipped. To Preston, Nate was the perfect picture of the ideal Minuteman.

It might have started as thankfulness, which then melted and reformed into hero worship, but now it was something more than that. There’s no doubt that he’d risk his life for Nate, do anything he asked without questioning why. He doesn’t just respect him as his leader, he loves him. But, when Preston thinks about it, there’s not a lot of people he knows who aren’t.

Which is why he’s standing in this underground crypt, all hands on deck, ready to throw everything he has at saving the man who onced saved him, surrounded by volunteers who know the risks, and came anyways.

Even though he knows that his feelings aren’t returned, even though he knows that the most he’ll get from this is a pat on the back and an ‘atta boy’, Garvey won’t turn away. He won’t leave Nate stranded in the clutches of the Institute, trapped with no way out. The Minutemen are his people, and so are the Railroad, and together they’ll bring him home.

Someone touches his shoulder once and he looks to see a woman with grey hair, parted to one side and shaved. She offers him a smile but it looks forced, like she’s not sure she can trust him. “Heard you’re the leader of this Army.”

“No ma’am”, she winces at his formality, “that would be General Richards. While he’s gone I have temporary control, but these people are here for him, not because I told them to come.”

There’s a curious look in her eye, it makes him feel like he’s naked and being analyzed. He fights the urge to cover himself. “Wanderer could make a junkie give up chems, or talk a raider out of their caps, couldn’t he?”

Garvey shrugs, Nate could do a lot of things.

“What did he do to make you follow at his heels?” It doesn’t sound like she’s trying to get under his skin, but he’s determined to meet her eye and stand his ground anyways, just in case.

“General Richards saved my life. Saved the lives of the people I wasn’t strong enough to save myself. He built us up from nothing, and brought pride back to this flag,” he punctuates his words with a gesture to the patch on his chest. “He made me Colonal and I wear that rank with pride. If you’re only here because you’ve been ordered to, then please stay out of my way.”

The smile that follows his words is a lot more genuine, and less predatory than the one before. The woman claps him on the shoulder and squeezes. “Thought you were just some boy scout out here trying to get some fame by saving your General. Looks like I was wrong about you.”

“I wouldn’t disrespect The General like that.”

Her features soften as her eyes roam over the figures praying. “No, you wouldn’t, would you? I’m Glory, Angel of Death, and it’s not just your General that we’re going in their to save.” There’s a sudden intensity on her face when she glances back at him. “My people are in there too, every damn synth down to the ones that are nothing but metal skeletons. We’re fighting for their freedom, as well. So, Garvey, let me ask you something.”

There’s something about the fire he can sense inside of her, the same kind of light that Nate has. It’s more righteous than his leaders, filled with fury and bullheadedness, but something he can respect just the same. “Anything.”

“Are you willing to risk your life for a synth?”

The last word is key, she wants to know his core values, pull him apart and see if he’s filled with truth, goodness. He knows he is, so he answers honestly. “I risk my life for people all the time. Makes no difference to me how they came into this world.”

“Good answer.”

She leaves him then, picks her way across the room until she disappears from sight. Preston watches her go, considers her words, her actions, and the passion locked up inside of her. Maybe it’s not something inherent to Nate that makes him believe. Maybe there is a higher being out there, Atom, God, the powers that be, who or whatever, that chooses certain people and fills them with the determination to make change, the ability to influence those around them, the potential to be great, without abusing that authority.

Preston doesn’t know what to believe, but he knows what he feels. And with Glory on their side, he’s pretty sure that they’ll make it out of this alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked, please let me know. Comments and kudos are the greatest thing an author/writer can receive.


	4. Chapter 4

The sound of gunfire and lasers pulls Nate from his medically induced dreams. He fights against the med-x flooding his system as he pulls himself to his feet. His knees slam into the ground as he attempts to stand, and his vision swims, but he stays awake. Shouting rings from just outside his room, more gunfire, and then the door slides open. Shaun is there, he’s dressed like he just woke up, and he’s holding a gun.

A gun that’s pointed right at Nate’s face.

“Get up, father.” Nate’s hand goes out to steady himself, and with more effort than it should take, he manages to stay on his feet.

“What’s going on?” At least his words aren’t coming out slurred or muffled.

Anger is written all over Shaun’s face and posture. “Like you don’t know. Move, or I’ll shoot you.”

There’s no doubt that he will, so Nate takes a tentative step forward. When his weight holds he takes another, until he’s walking - slowly, but still. Shaun guides him from behind, the gun pressed into his back. He’s still too groggy to fight back, but he’s awake enough to realize the situation.

The Institute is under attack.

Bodies of scientist, Minutemen, synths, and Railroad agents litter the floors. Blood and ash, as well as laser burns cover the walls and hallways. Shaun guides him through them all, and Nate is surprised that they don’t run into anyone, the fighting is this wing must be over. Shaun is talking behind him, cursing the surface, the people there and their refusal to let the Institute claim their homes from them. Nate is desperately searching the faces, hoping that none of the bodies belong to people he knows. So far, they’re all strangers to him.

They ascend the stairs quickly, and up here the noise of the fight fades away, mostly contained to the ground floors. He’s being led to Shaun’s room, his tower built to look down on all the Institute. Nate knows the blinding whiteness he usually sees when looking through that window will be gone, tainted and muted by blood and gore that, until then, was saved for the surface.

His eyes naturally gravitate towards the wall, where he knows the gruesome scene will be laid out before him, but before his eyes can focus on the bloodshed below, a familiar figure catches his attention.

“Nathan, is it really you?”

His breathing halts and his heart hammers in his chest. The world falls away, sounds become muffled, sensations fading until there nothing but him, him and his wife.

“Nora?”

The smile she gives him is heartbreakingly familiar and pain twists inside of him. Shaun brought her back, even after he begged him not to, even after Nate had told him that bringing her back would be the end of any relationship he was trying to build between them. His pain contorts into anger.

Before his anger can manifest, Nora’s face twists into one of confusion and fear. “Shaun, is that… a gun?” Suddenly Nate remembers the weapon pointing at his spine. His focus shifts and he knows that he needs a distraction.

“Shaun, what did you tell her?”

The Director’s hand clamps down hard on his shoulder, he leans up to whisper. “I told her what should be the truth: That you tracked us down, that you were so determined to make it back to us that you got hurt. You’ve been unconscious for weeks, barely clinging to life.” Shaun’s voice turns harsh. “You tell her that’s the truth, or I put a bullet in your boyfriend’s head.” 

Nate can work with that. He pulls from Shaun’s grip and takes a hesitant step forward. “It’s okay, Nora, Shaun was protecting himself. I only just woke up and…” he trails off with a shrug, “I didn’t know where I was. Didn’t believe he was Shaun or that you were alive. I demanded to see you so I could hear the truth from you.”

Nora’s expression softens and he steps closer, distancing himself from Shaun and the gun, and then her face crumples. In one large step she collapses into his chest, and he pulls her tightly. “Oh god, Nate. I thought you weren’t going to make it. I’ve spent weeks alone in this strange place, Shaun kept me company but,” she tilts her head to look at him, lowers her voice, “he’s not our baby anymore, is he?”

Even though she’s a synth copy, without the real Nora’s understanding and comprehension, he can see it in her eyes that she knows. That she can tell she’s being played, and now that he’s away from immediate danger, they can fight back. It reminds him of the real Nora, and it hurts his heart to see the defiance he knows so well, reflected in this poor woman, who isn’t who she thinks she is. On the other hand, that same fire and understanding burning in her irises lets him know that he has an ally, someone he can trust.

“No, he’s not. Our boy is gone forever. And nothing I just said is true, he’s lying to you.” He doesn’t need to tell her yet that she’s a synth, that even if Shaun wasn’t a monster, she was never his mother, never his wife. For now, they get somewhere safe, away from Shaun and the Institute. “But now, I need you to trust me. When I turn around you need to hide.”

She turns into him, burying her face in his shoulder. “I won’t leave you to deal with him alone, he’s our son, which means he’s our problem.” There’s no arguing with her, he learned that long ago.

“Fine, but don’t do anything rash.” He feels the smile instead of seeing it.

“No promises.”

She looks up at him as he releases her from their embrace, fear and some confusion still written on her face, and then they both turn towards Shaun. There’s still a distinct shine of something unstable in his eyes, but upon seeing them so close together, something in Shaun seems more calm. The gun is pointed at the floor, but Nate knows just how easily it can become a problem again.

An explosion sounds from below them and the anger is back. “You two need to come with me, we’re getting out of here.” The words are basically snarled and Nate feels Nora tense beside him.

“No.” Nate’s voice is firm, he refuses to be scared, both for himself and the pseudo-Nora. “We’re not going anywhere with you.”

There’s a second where Shaun pauses, like the words didn’t actually register, and then the pistol is once more pointed at him. “Fine, I might not have been the son you were expecting, but you also weren’t the father I remember. I’m tired of fighting. Goodbye.”

Instead of the panic he’s expecting, calm washes over him. The Institute has lost, the Railroad and the Minutemen are here and they’ll find Nora, they’ll find Deacon. Even if he dies at least he lived long enough to make a difference, to find love, to save as many people as he did. He’s expecting a bullet, but what he gets is a shove.

Nora’s instincts are faster than he gave her credit, and before the words are fully out of Shaun’s mouth she reaches out and shoves him sideways. A gunshot rings out as he’s falling, and he hears Nora’s hiss of pain. Only because of the skills he learned while roaming the Commonwealth, does he catch himself before he hits the ground. He’s nearly on his feet when he hears Shaun’s shouting. His begging. The Director drops his gun and rushes to his mother’s side, genuine pain written on his face. He doesn’t touch the synth though, merely falls to his knees and stares.

Has Shaun ever shot someone before? Has he ever seen a person bleed out on the floor? Probably not, and Shaun’s shock at his actions are likely the only thing that made him drop his gun and ignore Nate. He picks up the gun, feels safer as soon as the metal connects with his palm. One bullet and this will be over, he can take Nora and find Deacon and they can leave. Still, he hesitates. Even though he told Shaun that his son was dead, that he could never see the man kneeling below him as his child, it still doesn’t feel right killing him. The pistol remains at his side.

Shaun turns to him, distressed. “Please, you have to save her. If the Institute falls I can’t make her again.” And of course, that’s what this is, it’s not truly about saving Nora, or having a family, it’s about his creations, his ability to make synths and use them. All the hesitation and reservations evaporate as soon as the connection is made in Nate’s mind.

“Goodbye, Shaun.”

Nate doesn’t give the body of his son another glance as he drops down and places his hands over the bullet wound in Nora’s stomach. There’s red on her cheeks from where her coughing forced her blood out, and she’s already so pale.

“Nate-” he shushes her.

“Don’t talk, don’t waste your energy.” He knows she’s going to die. There’s no stim-packs here, and she’ll never make it to the infirmary. “Everything is going to be fine.”

“I don’t want to leave you alone.”

Even though this synth isn’t really his best friend, the parallels of their deaths - both bullets to the upper body, and the fact that she looks identical, has tears forcing their way out. They slide down his face and drip onto Nora’s Institute jumper. “I’m not alone, I’ve got friends, family, people that care about me. I’m happy, Nora.”

She smiles, even through the pain, and reaches up to cup his cheek. “One last kiss?” For a second he forgot, forgot that this woman doesn’t remember that his marriage - their marriage - was fake. Shame and guilt flutter through his mind at the request, is it unfair to her, to him, to Deacon, or is this something that he can do for her as her dying wish?

He kissed the real Nora once, they were teenagers at a party. It was a dare, brought on by people who thought their closeness was based upon mutual attraction. It was… fine, nothing to write home about, and they both agreed that it was awkward and a little uncomfortable, and that it would never happen again. But this Nora doesn’t have that memory, doesn’t remember, so he agrees.

It’s quick, a gentle brush of their lips, and when he pulls back he can taste her blood. “I love you.” Her confession has more tears falling, how could Shaun do this? How could anyone do this?

“I love you, too.” And suddenly, he’s not talking to this woman anymore, he’s talking to the Nora he knew, the woman who he believes he failed. Failed to save, failed to love, failed to protect. All the apologies for the man he wasn’t spill out, and the steady stream of tears falls faster, harder. “And I’m sorry, Nora. I should have been better,” the words come out choked, “a better husband, friend, father. I’m sorry, that you- that we- never got to really raise our son.”

It’s her turn to shush him, and she shakes her head slowly. “No, Nate, you were wonderful. My best friend, it’s okay.” Her hand falls from his face and she places it over his own, curling their fingers together. “Let go, love, it’s okay.”

“I can’t do that- I just can’t.” He can’t fail her again, can’t let him best friend die when he could do something, anything, even if it’s just holding the bullet wound until she takes her last breath. If he can’t make up for his failures now, he can at least comfort her until the end.

Her eyes soften, like she understands, like she can read his thoughts. “Alright, then just-” her gaze leaves his and suddenly Nate is aware of someone behind him. He turns, hands still pressed over Nora’s wound.

“Deacon?”

Wordlessly Deacon drops down next to him, producing a stimpack from out of nowhere. Hope dances through Nate, they can save her, save this synth. But just as quickly as that thought registers, another one does too: if she lives he’ll have to tell her the truth. He’ll have to tell her she’s a synth, that he doesn’t really love her, that he was speaking to the real Nora, and that their relationship was purely platonic. It’s too late to voice those concerns as Deacon quickly slips the needle into her side and depresses the plunger.

“There’s med-x in here, too. You’ll have to carry her out.”

“Deacon-”

“Let’s go Wanderer, this place is about to blow.” Icy rejection flits through Nate’s veins and Deacon dismisses him. What happened, why is he acting like this? And using his codename, is that really still necessary? Now is not the time for questions, however, so Nate maneuvers Nora into his arms and follows his partner to the teleporter room.

The silence stretches out between them as they file through into the teleporter. Nate has to break it. “Where are we going?”

“Back to HQ, the bombs will detonate automatically in a few minutes.” Deacon offers nothing further, and before Nate can attempt to speak he’s surrounded by a familiar blue light, and the next thing he knows he’s back in the halls of the Railroad headquarters.

Doctor Carrington takes Nora from him right away, and Nate follows telling the doctor everything he knows. By the time her medical needs are taken care of, Deacon is nowhere to be seen. He doesn’t go looking for him, clearly he doesn’t want to see Nate. It might be because Nate agreed to help the Institute in exchange for his safety, or maybe Deacon has slipped back into his old ways, shutting himself away from his own feelings and emotions. He won’t know until he asks, but he’s exhausted.

He’ll find Deacon in the morning.

///

“I love you.”

Deacon pauses at the doorway into the Director’s chambers. When Nate wasn’t in his room, Deacon knew that he was likely with Shaun. Unstable, delusional, not-quite-there Shaun, and when he heard the gunshot from down the hall, he assumed the worst. That Nate was shot, hurt or injured, possibly dead. But as he approached the door, his own weapon drawn and ready, he recognized Nate’s voice, and the voice of a woman.

Old habits die hard, and without thinking he pauses just before the door and listens.

“I love you, too.”

And that- that’s Nate’s voice. Who could he possibly be talking to? What woman is in that room who could conceivably love Nate, who Nate also loves in return?

“And I’m sorry, Nora. I should have been better-”

Nora… his dead wife? Nothing is making sense, and for a second Deacon wonders if maybe he’s dreaming, but a quick pinch to the inside of his wrist causes him pain. His vision and thoughts are too clear for this to be a drug-induced hallucination, which can only mean that this is real.

He listens to Nate speak choked off apologies, hears enough to know that the woman inside must be a synth copy. A fake-Nora designed by Shaun and the Institute to fuel the man’s fucked up ideals of his perfect, pre-war family. And she’s dying. The stim-pack in his pocket feel heavy, weighed down with the choice that he has. He can enter the room, save this poor synth, who likely doesn’t know she’s a copy. Save Nate from having to lose his wife. Seeing her die once was bad enough, but twice? Deacon knows that Nate wants to save her, synth or not.

Or he could let her die. It’s selfish, Deacon knows this. But if he saves this woman, rescues her from bleeding out all over the floor, would Nate still want to be with him? Or would he take the opportunity to get his wife back, to pick up their relationship from where it was so violently ended?

He can’t do it, can’t let someone die just so he can be with Nate. It’s not like he deserved him anyways, not after what he did. Even though he’s received nothing but forgiveness from his partner, he’s still a murderer. No amount of love or kindness could ever change that. But this woman? Nate already loves who she’s supposed to be, is in tears over losing her again, and he can’t stand by and let her die. It would hurt Nate too much, and he’s been trying very hard to make sure that his partner never has to feel pain again.

Nora stops talking when he crosses the threshold, and he recognizes her face from the photos that are still hung up in Nate’s old house. As he moves into the room, stim-pack ready, he sees Shaun. There’s a bullet hole in his head, he’s dead. Deacon turns away, even dead the man’s body alone has his neck tingling who phantom shocks.

Nate says his name as he sees him, and it’s tinted with relief, even if it’s clearly a question.

There are tears on his face and Deacon looks away, focusing instead on preparing the stim-pack and saving Nora. She was hit in the ribs, likely punctured a lung, but one dose and she’ll be fine. Blood covers her clothes, stains Nate’s hands, and he tears his gaze away from where their hands are clasped together. He empties the medicine into her body and finally addresses Nate. He’s careful to keep any feeling he has out of his tone. “There’s med-x in here, too. You’ll have to carry her out.”

“Deacon-” He can’t hear the excuses, can’t hear the rejection. Not yet, not while they’re still in enemy territory, not with Nate’s son dead behind him and his wife unconscious at his feet. It’s too much, just when he thought they’d be free, that he’d finally be able to have what he wants, it gets ripped away.

It’s no less than he deserves. “Let’s go Wanderer, this place is about to blow.”

It’s clear that Nate wants to argue, and it’s clear that Deacon should stop calling him by his name even just in his head, but then Deacon is on his feet and heading out of the room before he can say a word. There’s silence between them as they walk, an uncomfortable one that’s never occurred between them before, and it makes Deacon wants to scream. To grab his partner by the shoulders and demand answers, or kiss him. Which one he’d actually do he’s not sure, but he’s got enough self control that he stays quiet.

Nothing is said until their inside the teleporter room. “Where are we going?”

The question is quiet, like Nate- Wanderer- isn’t sure he’s allowed to ask. What happened to them? It’s never been like this before, and Deacon knows it mostly his fault, but he’s hurt, preparing himself for the rejection he knows is coming. Readying himself for being alone again, parterless in more ways than one. Still, it’s not a secret, and he tells him. “Back to HQ, the bombs will detonate automatically in a few minutes.”

Nate doesn’t say anything else, and as soon as his feet touch the ground of HQ, Deacon takes off. Doesn’t want to face anyone yet, he needs to build himself back up first, get a couple solid bricks back down on his foundation before Wanderer tears his heart out.

The Boston air is cold as he steps outside of the church, and the sun is dipping low in the distance, not yet sunset. His first breath of fresh air and look at open sky in days should comfort him. Instead it makes him feel small, and alone. A crow caws from beside him and without a second thought he shoots it. Instead of blood splatter he sees sparks, and that’s all he can take.

He’s gone before the sun can fully hide, a few minutes into his walk and the ground shakes. From this far away, he can’t hear the explosion, but he can see the mushroom cloud of debris and dust climbing into the air. There’s no final sense of accomplishment, or relief, just a bone deep tiredness. Turning from the sight is easy, and before long he’s pushing through the doors to the Third Rail.

For the first time in a long time, Deacon gets good and drunk. He can’t think when he’s this far gone, can only focus on making sure he keeps breathing, and keeps drinking. Hancock wakes him up hours later, and it’s then that he notices he’s on a couch in the Old State House. “Celebrate too hard last night? That big explosion was your work, correct Mr. Railroad?”

Deacon’s head is pounding, and he squints up at the ghoul through his sunglasses. “What time is it?”

The mayor tilts his head to look at the decrepit clock on the wall. “Clock says 4, but it’s said that for 200 years.”

He’s much too hungover to deal with this right now. Desdemona is probably wondering where he is. There’s lots of work to do, even with the Institute gone, there’s still synths to save. Plenty enough work for him to bury himself into until thinking of Wanderer won’t hurt his heart anymore. “Thanks, Hancock, I appreciate the hospitality, but I have to go.”

In response the ghoul blows a cloud of Jet towards him. “Good luck, brother.”

The casual response has him stopping in his tracks. “Luck with what?”

Hancock’s black eyes roam over to look at him, then he shrugs. “You never let yourself be anything but calm and in control. Whatever happened between the last time I saw you and today - it has you messed up enough inside your own head that you’re losing who you are.” Deacon tenses, hates the way Hancock is getting everything right.

“I don’t fucking like you, but Nate does,” the name hurts, splits him wide open, “which is the only reason I brought you here instead of letting you choke on a pile of your own vomit. And the only reason I’m telling you this now: get your shit together. You’ve kept him alive this long because you’re good at what you do. You stop being good at that, and you stop being useful.”

A pause. “If he gets hurt, because you’re struggling with something that distracts you this bad, it won’t be your poor decisions that put you in the ground. I make myself clear?”

On a normal day, Deacon doesn’t take well to threats, but if the roles were reversed, he’d likely be thinking and feeling the same thing. Plus, he doesn’t have the energy to argue. “Crystal.”

That seems to placate Hancock, and the mayor leans back into the worn cushions of the couch. “Get out of my town, Deacon.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice. It’s dark when Deacon leaves, not yet the next day, or too early into it for anyone but the ferals to be awake.

No one sees him as he slips back in through the catacombs, and it seems as if no one noticed his disappearance. The injured have been moved, likely transported to another safehouse, and the rest of the room is celebrating. There’s half empty bottles of beer and liquor scattered on most surfaces. Some people are holding drinks in their hands, some are already passed out in remote corners of the room.

What surprises him is seeing Desdemona and Carrington splitting a bottle of vodka between them. Des smiles at him as he approaches, and Carrington just watches him. “Deacon, I was wondering where you went off to.”

“Had to get some ice for the drinks,” he shrugs and leans against the wall, “never a real party without ice.”

Desdemona hiccups, and he wonders how drunk she really is. Enough to be leaning on Carrington and unconcerned with their closeness. “Get yourself a drink, D, we won. We’ll figure everything else tomorrow.”

Just the thought of drinking has nausea rolling inside of him. “Can do, boss. Just… don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” He’s talking about sleeping with Carrington, but his fearless leader is too far gone to really register his hinting.

He’s walking away when her response comes from behind him, “there’s nothing you wouldn’t do.” It hurts, but the pain from her words is barely noticable against all the other hurt that’s crashing through him in unending waves.

Avoiding the rest of the people in HQ is easy, he knows the secret ways in and out, can disappear without anyone noticing him, and after dodging everyone who knows he exists, he finds his was up into the church. He notices a pair of beer bottles on one of the pews and he moves forward, looking to see who they belong to. He thinks he might puke when he recognizes Wanderer’s bag. The person with him is probably Nora, and he’s not ready to see either of them.

Silently he spins on his heel and makes for the door, he’ll go to one of his personal safehouses, come back in the morning when Des will be hungover and eager to get him away from her. He’s almost to the exit when someone calls out to him.

“Deacon!” It’s Wanderer, sounding much too cheerful and happy to see him. “Where are you going?”

Deacon turns, lies forming as his body rotates, but when he meets his partner’s eyes they fall away. He’s so tired. Nora’s head pokes out from behind a wall, but then she pulls back, hidden once more. “I’m heading to Dayton, gonna sleep away from the mess downstairs.” As he talks Wanderer walks towards him, until they’re less than a foot apart.

“Why don’t I come with you? I can show Nora to a bed and then we can head out?”

He can help the venom that drips from his next words, “won’t your wife have a problem with that?”

Wanderer recoils like Deacon slapped him, and regret pulses like a beacon inside of his chest. “Deacon, you know that’s not actually- I’ve showed you her grave.”

“But this is your second chance right?” Deacon can’t even look him in the eye, he just wants Nate - fuck, Wanderer, to rip the bandaid off. “You get to have your wife, be the happy couple you used to be, and I-” He cuts himself off before something truly self-loathing can spill out.

“You what?” Wanderer sounds pissed, “you can run off and hide, pretend that there was nothing between us?” Deacon looks up just in time to see the anger bleed into confusion and hurt. “Is that what you want? Do you- do you want to stop what we had?”

No. He doesn’t. All he wants is- is everything. All that Nate is, all that they could be together. He can’t say that, but lying about this seems more wrong than anything else has ever felt. More so than the feeling he got holding that rope, or burying his wife.

“I want you to be happy.”

A noise of frustration slips past Wanderer’s lips. “That’s not a real answer.” Deacon answers with a shrug.

Neither of them speak, instead they stare at each other, both lost in thought, both unsure of what to say next, and then Nate tilts his head and his eyebrows pull together in confusion. “You said this was my second chance, you don’t know- I never told you.”

Tell him what?

“Tell me what?”

Wanderer looks over his shoulder, towards Nora, body tense, then looks back. “I…” he takes a deep breath and then whispers, “I haven’t told her yet. She’s still recovering from being shot, I don’t want to upset her more.” Nate reaches out and pulls Deacon further from when Nora is. “But there are things Shaun didn’t know about me, Nora, our relationship. This synth copy doesn’t know them either.”

It’s all too much for him right now. He’s still drunk, tipsy at least, and the whole situation, hell his whole life, just makes him tired. “Will you please stop being cryptic?”

Nate’s shoulders drop. “Let me come with you tonight, and I’ll tell you.”

There’s silence for a beat, and then, “okay.” The smile Deacon’s gets for his agreement helps the pounding in his head, but only a little.

///

Nate isn’t sure how he could be so stupid. How he could have not noticed.

Of course Deacon would misread the situation, of course he would draw the conclusion that Nate wanted to be with this replacement Nora, of course he would try and remove himself from the conflict.

In trying to keep himself safe, and sane, as well as do the bidding for half the goddamn Commonwealth, Nate had never actually told Deacon that him and Nora weren’t in love. And depending on how much of the conversation he heard at the Institute, it’s too easy to see why Deacon would draw the opposite conclusion. He’s just glad they’re going to get a chance to talk. 

Nora doesn’t ask many questions as he leads her back down into the depths of the catacombs. Simply listens to him as he talks. “I’ll be back in the morning, how late I’m not sure, but I will come back.” He’s not just going to abandon this poor woman, but he doesn’t have the time to tell her what she deserves to know, what she’s entitled to know. “But I do have to go.”

“With that man, Deacon wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, Deacon, he’s… he’s my partner, he’s important to me.”

He steers her past the groups of people getting drunk and back into the sleeping zone. The mattresses are all clear, no one yet ready to sleep, still too excited from their victory. Nate takes a second to explain to her a few things, the location of the doctor, food, water, and the bathroom. She nods her understanding, then looks at him. Her gaze has him pausing in his exit.

“How important?”

For a second he doesn’t know what she’s talking about, but then he remembers what he said a few minutes ago. Nate hesitates, what can he say to put this discussion off for another day? When he doesn’t answer, simply opens and closes his mouth like a drowning fish, she raises a hand to stop him.

“You love him.” Nate pauses his frantic thought process, mouth hanging open for a second before he manages to clamp it shut. It’s not a question, there’s no room for denial.

“How- I mean it’s not-” he fumbles for the right words, he doesn’t want to tell her she’s not what he wants, that’s too long of a conversation and he needs to get back to Deacon. Finally, he lets out a breath and settles on, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she takes his hand and squeezes it gently, “you thought I was dead, thought I died months ago. I can’t fault you for moving on, for finding someone else.” There’s sadness in her voice, but not heartbreak, or anger. It seems like she’s already well on her way to acceptance. “Plus, I heard some things while you two were talking,” she lifts her eyes to look at him, a little panicked, cheeks red with embarrassment, “I wasn’t eavesdropping, but the church has some good acoustics.”

He can’t help but smile, even as his own face heats, “It’s okay, and there’s… more to it than that. And I promise I’ll explain everything to you tomorrow.”

Nora nods, releases his hand. “One question,” he nods, “is it safe to say that I’m not getting you back?” He doesn’t respond, but she infers from the way he avoids looking at her. “It’s okay, Nate. I want you to be happy, and if that means you’re with someone other than me, then so be it.”

There’s that phrase again: I want you to be happy. How did he get lucky enough to have these people in his life looking out for him? People that would sacrifice their own happiness for his? He has no idea, but he’s not going to let the opportunity pass him.

“Thank you, Nora.” It’s not enough, but it will do for now.

“Go on now, get your man.” They smile at each other, his full of gratefulness, hers filled with understanding, and then he’s gone, leaving Nora - and all the issues he’ll have to deal with later - behind.

Nate takes the stairs two at a time, and finds himself surprised to see that Deacon actually waited for him. He looks tired, run down and ragged, and Nate’s pretty sure it’s only partiually due to the kidnapping, torture, and fire-fight that ensued miles underground. The tension in the Deacon’s shoulders doesn’t decrease when he finally walks up to him, and Nate feels a stab of guilt. It’s his fault Deacon is hurt, even if the spy would never admit that he was heartbroken or upset.

“All set, lead the way.”

Deacon makes a noncommittal noise and turns towards the door, not bothering to check if Nate actually follows him. They’re both quiet as they walk, and Nate runs through what he’s going to say, over and over again until the door to Deacon’s secret hideaway shuts behind them both, effectively cutting them off from the rest of the Commonwealth.

There’s a buzzing energy under his skin, betraying his nervousness of the conversation to come. Nate wants to blurt everything out, but it’s clear that Deacon wants to settle, sit down before anything is said. So, he waits. Impatient and unsure of the reaction he’s going to get, but eager to make sure that Deacon is comfortable, and willing to listen.

Finally, after what feels like an endless amount of time, both he and Deacon are seated in the sparse hideout, him on the couch and Deacon perched in the loveseat across from him. “Alright, Wanderer, what is it?”

The codename stings, like it has every time since Deacon started to use it to force distance between them, and it has him wincing.

“Alright, first thing’s first, the Institute is gone. Reduced to nothing but rubble and ash, there’s no need to call me Wanderer anymore. Just Nate is fine.” Deacon only nods, like he’s not going to follow that at all. “And second, Deacon, Nora and I were never in love, our marriage was fake.”

Nate’s never seen Deacon genuinely shocked or surprised before. There’s been a million times when he’s seen the man fake those things, to trick a mark, or to be unnecessarily dramatic, but there’s not a lot in this life that Deacon doesn’t already know, or at least doesn’t have an inkling suspicion about. So, while it shouldn’t be amusing to see the other man’s mouth flop open in shock or to see the way his brows raise well past where his hairline may be if he ever grew out his hair, it makes Nate giggle a bit, before he shoves it back.

He’s also never heard Deacon fumble over his own words, but today seems to be a lot of first for them, and Nate waits patiently as Deacon sputters half asked questions and words.

“If you’re done, I can tell you everything.” That gets his partner back into something more normal, and he nods, fully focused once again.

And Nate tells him, everything. From his homophobic father, to his supportive mother, to how he became friends with Nora. Deacon listens as Nate details the pre-war world, so full of hate and fear, much like the Commonwealth now. There’s a few questions, seemingly asked not to satisfy Deacon’s endless curiosities, but simply to clarify and correct any misunderstandings.

There’s pain and sadness when he talks about adopting Shaun, and Nate is grateful that Deacon lets him skim over most of that part of his life. By the time he’s done, Nate feels like he’s been talking for hours, full of a hundred different emotions, swimming to stay afloat as the memories of his past threaten to pull him under the surface. But he still has to explain what happened at the Institute.

“I don’t know how much you heard, when I was talking to the Nora that Shaun made. But you have to understand, we both thought she was going to die.” Nate picks at some dirt beneath his fingernails, distracting himself. “I wanted her to pass thinking she was loved, and it gave me…”

Nate trails off, trying to put what he was feeling back then into words. “It gave me a chance to say what I always wished I could have said to the real Nora. It was my final opportunity to apologize. For everything.” He glances up, trying to gauge a reaction but struggling to find one. “I did love her, she was my best friend and I would have done anything for her, but I wasn’t in love with her, and she wasn’t in love with me.”

There’s one more thing he has to tell Deacon, and it might be too much, might send him running. But Nate is tired of hiding who he is, pushing aside what he wants, and if Deacon runs, or walls himself off again, then he’ll just have to let him, let go and move on.

“I don’t love Nora, Deacon, but fuck if I don’t love you.”

His statement sucks all the air out of the room, leaving Nate feeling breathless, nervous, anxious. Deacon kissed him, let himself be tortured for him, stuck by his side for months, built up a friendship that they both let turn into something more. Took out the Institute, maybe not for him, but he made sure to find Nate before leaving. All that has to count for something, Nate just isn’t sure if it’s enough to tip the balance of vulnerability and fear to one of mutual trust and love.

Deacon stands up, wordlessly, and Nate’s heart drops. He waits for the other man to leave, to not say another word, honest, joking, or otherwise. He prepares for it, drawing up his own walls for protection from the heartbreak he knows will descend as soon as Deacon leaves him, alone and broken. Nate sighs, leans forward to drop his head into his hands, stares at the floor as he wills the tears he can feel to stay, to not fall until he’s truly alone, he listens for the sound of footsteps and the door opening that will signal Deacon’s departure.

Instead, the footsteps come closer, until he can see the tips of Deacon’s shoes, then the tops of his thighs as Deacon kneels in front of him. He doesn’t dare move, afraid that if he does that Deacon will flee, startled by any sudden motion or noise. Nate continues to stay leaned over, breath coming out quiet, but broken by the tears still pushing at the back of his head.

Cold fingers touch his cheek, pressure from them just enough for Nate to understand the silent request, and he complies, lifting his head up enough to look at Deacon. For a second all he can focus on is the blue of Deacon’s eyes, unobstructed by his sunglasses which have been removed. He thinks of the other times he’s been privileged enough to see them: the Compound outside Covenant, when they kissed before being captured, and in Shaun’s quarters during their first torture session, all these moments blend together, repeating until Deacon speaks and shocks him out of his reminision.

“I can’t say it, don’t make me say it.”

Nate won’t make him, he doesn’t need to. Without the protection of his glasses it’s all too easy to read the emotions in Deacon’s eyes, to tell what he’s thinking and feeling by his facial expression. There’s fear there, nervousness, of course, but there’s also love. He doesn’t need the words, not if he gets to keep Deacon instead.

“You never have to say it, I’ll never ask you to.”

The flood of relief he sees at his reassurance slams into Nate’s chest like a freight train, and before he can stop himself he’s leaning forward. Deacon meets him halfway, eyelids fluttering shut, hiding the color that Nate has come to associate with trust and comfort. And when their lips meet in a kiss that’s not rushed, or planned, or forced, it feels like some final piece slips into place inside Nate’s heart. A piece he didn’t know was missing, wouldn’t have worried over before, but that without he knows now that he would have never truly felt complete.

There’s still a million things to be done, to take care of. Synth Nora is still at the Railroad headquarters waiting for an explanation, the synths they rescued still need to be brief and sent to settlements that will help them instead of persecute them, he’s still not sure exactly where Deacon and him stand, and overall, there’s still a lot to do, but all that can wait.

It all can wait until the night is over, until he can get one real moment with Deacon that isn’t staged, or rudely interrupted by a bullet, until he’s sure that Deacon knows how much Nate wants to be with him, how much he loves him, despite his past, despite his flaws, despite the struggles they’re guaranteed to have.

Even if it takes the rest of his life, he’ll gladly spend it convincing Deacon that he’s good enough, worthy enough for kindness, and for love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent a week writing a re-writing the final scene between Deacon and Nate, never really quite landing on something I loved as much as everything else. Still, I'm happy with what I've posted, and I hope y'all are too.
> 
> As always, if you liked please let me know with a kudo or a comment, and stay tuned, because I've got some more fics planned, some are nearly done, others are half-way, and some are in the baby stages. But they're coming, and I hope you stick around to read them.


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